#ahhh this was such a challenge and so different for me

[damimami1994]

*AGGRESSIVELY TAKES A DEEP BREATH* VAAANNNNN!!!

GIIRRLLYY I JUST CANT WITH YOUUU!

This damn fic made my busy day 20 times BETTER!! THANNKKK YOUUUU!

Starting with the different times Logan was being a menace and riling up the reader is so hot!! 🥵😏 His hand over my mouth in the woods?! And the training room TOO?! YESS PLEEASE!!

“You missed Logan. Not just the sex, but just him. You missed his scent, his voice, his fluffy hair, the way his beard always tickled you when you kissed.”

The way I just SWOOON over this man! 🫠

I absolutely LOOOOVVE how eager the reader is for Logan to come back from his mission and the countdown is SO real!!! When you wrote that she walked in a brisk paced all I saw was this in my head LOL (she was trying to be so composed!!)

I’d be the same way to be honest because that man is EVERYTHING!!!

NOWW VAANNN this was literally my emotions for the rest of the fic 🤣✨

When they finally started doing the damn DIRTY deed MY LOOORRDDD!!! Just the eagerness of the reader and Logan taking it all in is just AHHHHH! HIS DAMN DIRTY TALK TOOOOOOOO!!! I’m listing just SOME of the ones I loved but ALL of them had me BLUSHING!! 🤭

“Missed those pretty lips of yours darling.” He purred, thrusting his hips forward”

“Look at you- so damn perfect..” He breathes, you open your eyes to look up at him. His mouth parted, eyes filled with desire- and love.”

“Ain’t full yet? Heh, go ahead princess.” He chuckles. “It’s all for you.” 

“Just means I can’t leave you for long now- Can’t be having my girl all needy and alone now can I?” 

“Well darling, I’m all for you- take what you want.”

I WILL LOGAN I WILLLLLL!!

It’s just so damn hot and a DEFINITE MIGHTY MIGHTY NEED!

Then I started giggling because Logan was all for it then was like WAIT maybe we should chill out but reader is like

ITS THE BESTT 🤣❤️ and her challenging him!!!!

Why stop?” You continue, challenge in your tone. “Or else….” You bit your lip, a cheeky grin stretching across your face. “You’re tired? Big bad Wolverine can’t keep up?” 

These are the two faces I definitely see Logan reacting to reader telling him he can’t keep up! 🤣

THE FERALNESS OF THIS FIC IS JUST *MUAH* CHEFS DAMN KISSSS!!!! It made me blush, scream internally, laugh and just all and all SO HOT! Its just so fun too having the roles switched of reader actually being the one that wants round for round (who wouldn’t tho honestly)

You are such an amazing writer van, it’s honestly insane and I just want to squeeze you because you always feed us so well!!

Now I gotta get ready to become an actual ghost with what you else you have COMING UP AHHH!!!! 😍🥰🤭

Insatiable

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

You really missed him

A/N: based on a convo me and @damimami1994 had last night lol and I wrote 4k of THIS. Also forgive me I haven't written a smut fic in a hot minute Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, established relationship, multi positions, cum gets EVERYWHERE im ngl to yall. creampies included. Oral (M! recieving, F! implied), fingering, titjob mention, a lil rough but not really? reader is probably ovulating honestly, kinda nipple play for both f! and m! brief mention of other x-men, I need a cigarette, logan calls reader a slut once lol,

It’s been exactly 9 days, 14 hours, 19 minutes, and 24 seconds since you’ve seen Logan.

You don’t know what’s got into you. The others have noticed your anxiousness, constantly jittery, wherever you were. Bouncing your leg and jumping at any opportunity to do something- something distracting. Hank told you you were acting as if you had ants in your pants, bouncing off the walls while working.

It’s not like you haven’t gone longer without seeing Logan.

 Seeing. 

Touching.

Feeling him.

You couldn’t focus on work, because all you could picture was the time Logan was chopping wood for the fireplace. Charles offered to simply buy firewood, but Logan scoffed at the idea. Why waste the money? It was a good source for him to get pent-up energy out.

Which is something you absolutely needed to do right now.

You could picture every detail of him. It was a fall day, with a chill in the air but the chopping was making him hot and sweaty. So he took his shirt off. All muscles, hair, and sweat. His arms straining, biceps flexing, and veins popping out as he slammed the axe down onto the helpless wood, splitting it into two. He straightened his back, wiping sweat off his forehead as he grabbed another piece of wood and set it atop the stump. 

You spent that entire afternoon slacking off and drooling over him. Eventually, you brought him some lemonade, watching the drink spill over his lips and down his neck as he took a hardy gulp of it, a refreshed “aah” escaping him when he finished and a sultry “Thanks sweetheart”

He hadn’t missed how you’d been hungrily watching him all afternoon. He purposely put the little show on for you, loving to wind you up and make you squirm as the scent of your arousal wafted to his nose and sent him on edge and needing more release than exercise of chopping wood gave him.

He fucked you in the woods, behind the treeline, out of sight from the mansion. His hand over your mouth to keep you quiet while he stuffed you full of his cock, leaving you exhausted and weak- he had to carry you back. 

Another time, he was training, and you went to see what he was up to. Innocent originally in your motives. He had on that tight suit that he thinks looks so ridiculous, but only wore it due to your comment about how handsome you thought he looks in it. 

Training had him fired up, and the moment he saw you, he took it out on you. Fucked you there in the training room after ensuring no one would bother you. Relentless in his stamina, you always were a little bit embarrassed how exhausted you’d get after a few rounds- feeling like you couldn’t keep up with him. 

Yet, you both liked how he used your worn-out body. So it never really was an issue.

You took a deep breath, leaning back in your chair as frustration built up in you. You missed Logan. Not just the sex, but just him. You missed his scent, his voice, his fluffy hair, the way his beard always tickled you when you kissed.

The hum of the jet in the distance drew you out of your head. You practically leaped out of your chair, walking at a brisk pace down the halls of the mansion until you found the elevator and went in. You were bouncing on your heels, thinking the jet was likely landed by now, and Logan and the others- Scott and Jean were likely making their way off of it. 

When the doors open, you’re greeted by Ororo, Bobby, and Rogue, who were also coming to greet the trio. Ororo waved for you to follow, none of them noticing how eager you were to see Logan. You had to force your pace to slow down to stay with the small group, forcing yourself to listen to Bobby and Rogues excited chatter.

You reached the doors, which slid open revealing the large room where the jet was landed. A quiet humming was heard until it shuts off. Landing door fell open, where three figures appear walking down the ramp. 

“Logan!” You beamed as you spot him, the first to climb out of the jet. You ran to him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Hey princess-” He greeted you in a soft voice, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” You smiled, leaning back from the hug and then pecking his lips. 

“Get a room.” Scott remarked, Jean playfully hit him.

“Stop! It’s cute.” 

“Hi guys.” You smiled at them, fighting your eagerness to drag Logan back to your shared room. Letting your arms drop from Logan, you gave them a polite smile. “Everything go okay?”

“As smooth as it could.” Scott says crossing his arms, glancing at Logan. Logan shot him a scowl back, before his arm wrapped around your shoulders and tugged you closer. 

You looked up at him, chewing on your bottom lip and forgetting about your surroundings. He looked so good. His hair was a bit messy, beard has grown a bit- due for a trim but all you could think about was it drenched with your arousal. You shifted on your feet impatiently, thighs pressing together. You wanted to sit on his face and ride him it until you physically couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. 

Your eyes trailed down to his neck, watching his adams apple bob as he gives Scott a snide remark that you didn’t even hear because you’re too busy resisting the urge to just lean foreward and suck on the skin of his neck until the hickeys become permanent instead of ultimately disappearing. 

Everyone was talking, but you didn’t hear a word of it, shifting anxiously back and forth on the heels of your feet, barely taking your eyes off Logan. 

He must sense something, because he eventually looks at you and quirks his brow, before his lips tilted into an arrogant smirk. 

“Well, this reunion was nice, but I’m going to catch up with my girl.” He says, turning towards you. You smiled, reaching to grab his hand and giving Scott and Jean a polite nod- some common sense lingered in your head despite your desperate state to at least acknowledge them once more before you leave.

You were practically dragging Logan to the elevators. Oblivious to the others who were all watching you and snickering amongst themselves.

He hit the button to the floor, the doors closing just as he turned to face you. 

“You must have reall missed me, didn’t ya sweetheart? Couldn’t tear your eyes off of me back th-” 

He was interrupted when you tackled him. Grabbing the collar of his suit and tugging him down to meet your lips. It was nothing but passionate and messy, tongue and spit clashing together as your hands climbed into his hair. He let out a soft moan, his hands grabbing your hips to tug you against his. He grinned, a small laugh escaping him. 

“Yeah I missed you too.” He mumbles against your lips, but you barely gave him a chance to talk. You pulled him closer, lifting a leg to hook around his hip. He pushed you against the elevator wall; a loud thud when your back hit the wall, hands roaming over your figure desperately. 

The elevator dinged, and you both were standing side to side. Your hair was a mess, Logans face was flushed, and your clothes were rumpled. A few students walk by giving you both questioning looks in which you merely waved and gave them a smile in response. Unable to speak because you were out of breath. 

Soon as they were gone, you grabbed Logans hand and you both took off running down the hall to you bedroom. Giggling like two love-sick teenagers sneaking around. 

You pushed the bedroom door open, turning and tugging Logan inside. He kicked the door shut, locking it with his hand as you lunged forward pushing him back against the door, capturing him in another heated kiss. You moved down, nipping and sucking on the skin of his neck while your hands came down to his belt. 

“You’re eager tonight-” He hums, a small hum escaping him as you nipped at his pulse point.

“I really missed you-” You reply breathlessly. You tugged his belt loose, before working on the zipper and falling to your knees. “God I need you-”

You wasted no time tugging the spandex down to his thighs, his cock erect already. You took his member in hand, licking a long strip from the base to his tip.

“Fuck-” Logan let out a shaky breath. 

You’d normally take your time. Tease him a bit until he got frustrated and shoved his cock in your mouth. You’d savor every inch of him on your tongue, mapping out the thick vein to his Adonis belt. 

Tonight though, you simply just wanted to be full of him. 

You took him in your mouth, heavy against your tongue, your lips wrapped around his throbbing member. You gathered spit to soak him quickly before bobbing your head up and down- his tip hitting the back of your throat. 

His hand climbed into your hair, setting the pace as you sucked him off.

“Missed those pretty lips of yours darling.” He purred, thrusting his hips forward to fuck into your mouth. “Missed seeing them wrapped around my cock.”

You let out a moan, drool beginning to coat your lips and roll down your chin. Your hands pressed into his thighs, letting him take complete control as he fucked your mouth. 

“Look at you- so damn perfect..” He breathes, you open your eyes to look up at him. His mouth parted, eyes filled with desire- and love. His pace went faster, pushing himself deeper down your throat but you gladly accepted him. “Love my cock don’t ya? Couldn’t even wait, bouncing off the walls down there.” 

“Mmm.” You managed. He let out a deep chuckle. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll make up for lost time.” 

He fucked your face at a quick pace, tipping his head back, quiet grunts escaping him until he froze. You felt his thighs tense, and he spilled over the back of your throat- coating it with spurts of cum. You were so high off him- you didn’t even gag as he pushed himself balls-deep, eyes just rolling back and tears falling down your cheek as your felt him throb against your tongue. 

He pulled out, leaving you gasping, sputtering some of is cum that dripped over your lips. He leaned down, capturing your face in his hand and kissing you, licking the mess off your chin and lips. 

You hand reached for his cock again, not ready to be done. You found it quickly hardening in your grasp, not to your surprise. His stamina was insane.

“Ain’t full yet? Heh, go ahead princess.” He chuckles. “It’s all for you.” 

You took him in your mouth again, sucking him off more messily this round. He reached a second orgasm quickly, pulling you off his cock just so he could aim himself to coat your lips. 

“Oh yeah….” He mumbled, tilting his head slightly as he admired the mess he made. “Ain’t that a pretty sight?” 

You licked your lips, tasting him on your tongue, looking up at him eagerly. 

You got on your feet, and within seconds your and Logans clothes were discarded. His claws popped out- allowing him to quickly slice off the pesky things- including his own suit. It takes too much time to undress anyway. 

He shoved you onto the bed gently, before stalking towards you. His once-again erect cock bobbing with each step, soaked with your spit. 

“Open up for me princess.” 

Spreading your legs, he let out a deep moan at the sight, hands going to your knees as to ensure you won’t close them. 

Your core was throbbing at this point, painful nearly to the touch and dripping wet. 

“Fuck baby, me being gone really got you riled up huh?” He muttered. You nodded. “Just means I can’t leave you for long now- Can’t be having my girl all needy and alone now can I?” 

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head, wishing he would just touch you already. You knew better- if you whined or complained, he’ll end up teasing you instead and you weren’t in the mood for that. 

He cupped your pussy with his hand, warm and soothing as he pressed his palm against your clit. Carefully, he slid two fingers in with ease. Your mouth fell open, tipping your head back in bliss. Just two fingers had you seeing stars with how wound up you were. 

“Damn, all ready for me too huh?” He tsks shaking his head. He curled them expertly inside you, stroking the gummy spot that sent you careening. Arching your back off the bed both hands clawed at his arm. He grinned at the sight, watching you move his hips desperately attempting to ride his fingers. 

“Logan!” You cried out, movements becoming sporadic.

“Look at you, riding my hand like a slut.” He taunts. “Were you thinking about this while I was gone?”

You nodded, heart pounding out of your chest. Your lips formed a pout, squeezing your eyes shut. “Logan please-” You needed him to move his hand with you, unable to reach that tight peak wound in your belly. “I need you…” You whimpered, tossing your head to the side. 

He braced his free hand on the mattress, leaning over you as he examined your writhing figure. He didn’t make motion to move his hand; only occasionally curling his fingers to keep you on edge. Continuing to let you ride it desperately while he watched the way your tits bounced with each squirm. He chuckled, leaning forward to catch one tit in his mouth, sucking on the peaked bud and rolling his tongue around it. 

You cried out, the extra stimulation being just enough to push you over the edge even with him actively fingering you. 

You held onto his arm with a death grip, continuing to rmove your hips to ride his fingers. Your cunt clenched around them tight, soaking his hand with your release as you let out a cry. His tongue continued playing with your tit, sending heat down your spine that made you clench him even as your orgasm passed. 

You were breathless-

But you wanted more.

“Logan-” Your hand climbed up into his hair, before tugging him off your nip. “I need you to fuck me-” 

There was a glimmer of surprise in his eyes, only to be replaced with a devilish grin. 

“Yeah sweetheart? How bad?” 

“So bad-” You pant. “God please- I need your dick.” 

“Use my name sweetheart- ask me again.” He teases, carefully repositioning himself between your legs, spreading your thighs. His hands were on the back of your knees, pushing them up to your chest. He let go of one to grasp his cock in hand, tapping it against your core. 

“Please Logan-” You whimpered. Forget the humiliation of begging, being embarrassed and shy with your words- you were desperate. “I need your cock- I need you to fuck me and don’t stop-” 

“Those are some dirty things coming out of you baby.” He leans over you, pushing his dick through your folds. “Whats gotten into you huh?”

“I missed you.” You pouted, a sharp whine escaping when his tip bumps into your clit. 

“I know you did.” He coos, making a fake pout. “I’m gonna make it up to you princess.”

With a quick thrust, he slams into you. He’s not slow- relentless in his thrusts as he fucks you into the mattress. You cried out, unaware about staying quiet so he cover your mouth his hand. 

He stretched you open delightfully. Your hot walls clenched around him, tight was if never wanting to let him go- which you didn’t. Each thrust pushed your further to the edge of the bed until your head was hanging off it. He wrapped an arm around you waist to ensure you don’t fall off during his ceaseless pounding. 

You wanted him closer, deeper.

Your hands grabbed at his waist, before finding his ass and pushing down- encouraging him to bury himself completely inside you. 

“Fuck you feel so damn good-” He hissed, tipping his head back before dropping it again to admire your form. Your tits bouncing with each thrust, your head hanging off the edge of the mattress- face completely enraptured with pleasure. “Take it all baby, I know you want it.” 

“Don’t stop-” You managed out. 

“Couldn’t stop if a damn meteor hit us-” He grunted. A quick giggle escaped you, until fall into another deep moan when his cock hits the perfect spot inside you.

You reached your second orgasm, soaking the both and your and the sheets you were on. You were speechless, and breathless. 

Logan didn’t stop, only pulling out to finish on your belly with a harsh shout of your name. 

He rolled off of you, after giving you a few soft kisses. His hand finding yours at your side and squeezing it. You didn’t wait long, immediately straddling him, grinding over his semi-hard cock. He looked up at you with surprise, only for a cocky grin to appear on his face. 

“Just can’t get enough of me can ya?”

You pressed your hands to his chest, feeling his muscles and sliding them down to his abs. You smiled bashfully and nodded your head. 

“Feel the same way gorgeous-” His hand reached up to caress your face. “C’mere-” 

It moved to the back of your neck, tugging you down to meet him. You shared a passionate kiss, warmth rushing through you as your hands gently cradled his face. A small hum escaping him, tangling his fingers into your hair. 

“Well darling, I’m all for you- take what you want.” He mutters into your lips. He leaned back, his arms folding behind his head as he looked up at you with a loving expression. You pecked his lips once more, lowering yourself to nibble along his chin and onto his neck. You moved even lower to his chest, pressing wet kisses along his pecs, running your tongue over a nipple before your hands came up to run over each. Logan moaned, a cocky grin on his face as he looked up at you.

Using his chest to brace yourself, you lowered yourself over his cock. You bit your bottom lip, tipping your head back in bliss as you sunk onto him even if he was just inside you a few minutes ago it still felt amazing. He filled you to the brim and all you wanted was him to never leave again. 

After a minute, you slowly started to roll your hips against his. A small grunt escaped him, and you looked up to meet his eyes. You didn’t look away as you began moving faster over him, your hips bouncing in rhythmic motions. His hands behind his head moved to clench the sheets, his jaw tightening as the veins in his neck popped out. 

Neither of your releases took as long this time- having multiple already, you both were so sensitive. Even as he came deep inside you- you didn’t stop riding him. Feeling him fill you up only made you want him more.

“Fuck-” He gasped, his voice beginning to lose composure. “Gonna slow down sweetheart?” He lets out a chuckle. “Don’t want to tire yourself out so quickly yet, yeah?”

You didn’t respond, only leaning down to capture him in yet another messy kiss. Your hands tangle into his hair as you bounced on his cock, another sliding down over his neck. His hands found your hips, thrusting up into you. Slick noises echoed in the room- but it only spurred you on more. 

You came again with a cry, parting from his lips with spit connecting you both. Your eyes rolled back as shivers ran through you. He didn’t stop thrusting into you. He rolled you onto your back, burying his face into your neck. 

“Meant it when you said don’t stop huh?” He grunted as he pounded you into the mattress once more. “Alright darling- I’ll fuck you just the way you want.” 

He sat up, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands pinned your hips down as he slammed back into you. His chest pressed into your sweaty back, a hand sliding up your curves until it landed on your neck and tipped your head back to look at him. 

“Logan!” You cried out. “Ah-” You could barely catch your breath but you couldn’t care. The bed shook violently and you wondered if the frame was going to snap soon- it wouldn’t be the first time. 

“C’mon, tell me how good I’m making you feel-” He growls in your ear.

“So good!” You whined. “Oh god- Lo-!” 

His hips slammed against your ass. He leaned down, biting into the crook of your neck. You tightened around him, another release rushing through you leaving you shaking and breathless- voice hoarse from moaning. He bit down harder, his own release shooting out and filling you up once again. 

He let go, his vision cloudy and filled with lust. He admired the mark on your neck, replacing the one that had apparently healed while he was gone. You were shaking hard underneath him, and he carefully pulled out, climbing off you. 

“You okay?” He managed out, still breathless. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows. Sweat covered both you, exhaustion screaming at your bones. 

He thought for sure you be satiated by now. 

But you immediately went to straddle him again. 

“Woah-” He grabbed you and rolled you onto your back, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the mattress. “Lets take a breather here sweetheart- You look like you’re going to pass out.” 

You laugh, tipping your head up to kiss him. “I’m fine, I want more Lo.” You purred. 

He laughed. “You’ll get it sweetheart, I ain’t going nowhere- just let your pretty little heart settle for a minute.” He leaned to press kisses into your neck, and along your collarbone.

“Or what?” He heard you say. He froze, leaning up to look down at you again.

“‘S’cuse me?” He asks.

There was mischief in your eyes, a glimmer of rebellion. One that made his cock twitch again.

“Why stop?” You continue, challenge in your tone. “Or else….” You bit your lip, a cheeky grin stretching across your face. “You’re tired? Big bad Wolverine can’t keep up?” 

His lip twitched into a snarl. “Princess, you better think about what you’re saying.” He leans in. “You and I both know damn well I can keep up.”

“Prove it.” 

You’re pretty sure you’re going to eat those words- but you didn’t care. A growl escaped him as he let you go, you squealed as he grabbed your legs and pulling you along with him to the edge of the bed.

He made you ride his face until your thighs were raw with beard burn. Used your tits for a tit job, and made you suck him off more times than you can remember making your throat raw. Bent you over the bed, the desk, against the wall, and on the floor-  He did everything he could think of to you.

Each time you could see him grow more and more weary- and for some reason it made you want more out of him. The challenge you presented to him made you curious

How much can Logan take?

You don’t even know what time it was, you were riding him again. His hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, he was flushed and exhausted. You’re sure you looked much worst- but you just weren’t finished. Your body was past the point of numb- working completely on some sort of instinctual autopilot.

He let out a weak moan, hips thrusting up into yours as he came again. 

“Fuck-” He grunted as you continued grinding down on him. His hands grabbed you, pushing you off him gently, arms wrapping around you and forcing you onto your side as he spooned you. His movements firm- actions were final. “That’s enough for you darling-” He mumbled into your ear. 

“But-”

“No buts.” He grumbles firmly. “You pushed yourself too much.” 

You grinned. He was right. You could barely keep your eyes open. You likely were going to be aching for the next week now, and won’t stop leaking him for awhile either. A sense of victory hit you though- Logan used your wellbeing as an excuse to call it quits, but you’ve quite literally drained him dry. You could feel it in the way his body pressed into you- tired, his arm laid over you was heavy like he didn’t have strength left in it.

“We should shower-” You say, gently scratching his arm wrapped around you. The both of you were covered in an ungodly amount of fluids- not to mention your sheets will need to be replaced. He grumbles a bit.

“In the morning.” He buries his face into your hair. You let out a sleepy laugh, turning your head to press a kiss to his nose. 

“Need some water?” You asked. His eyes opened, and you smiled at him. He lets out an amused sigh, closing his eyes again. 

“You’re something else.” He mumbles. You hummed.

“I love you.” 

A faint grin appeared on his face. “Yeah, I love you too. Get some sleep.“

[woninggg]

girll i crave, I CRAVEEE opposites attract, rival coworkers enemies to lovers typa smut with cheol and i think you are only one who can write this. i love your work and live for your work. thank you sooo muchhh for decide to write here💖

🐇:ahhh ty so much my love this made my day also this was so fun yet so hard to write(since English is not my first language) but I kinda love the result hehe

bite back~ 崔胜澈 Rival!Coworker!Choi Seungcheol × Rival!Coworker!Reader

Warnings: office AU, smut, degradation, dom cheol, desk sex, unprotected sex, minor choking, and mutual obsession disguised as hatred.

ᶻᶻ..more content under the cut┈✦

The worst thing about Choi Seungcheol wasn’t that he was good at his job.

No, that wasn’t it. If anything, you would have respected him for that. You didn’t mind competition—in fact, you thrived on it. But Seungcheol was a different breed of competitor. He wasn’t just good, he was arrogant about it. A smug, self centered, insufferable bastard who made sure you knew exactly where he stood in the company hierarchy.

And unfortunately, that spot was right next to yours.

The rivalry started the moment you joined. He had been the golden boy of the company, the one everyone looked up to, until you showed up. You weren’t intimidated by his reputation, nor were you interested in playing second to anyone. And from the moment you went head-to-head in your first project, you knew neither of you would back down.

It wasn’t just competition. It was war.

You challenged every one of his ideas. He shot down every one of yours. You undercut his suggestions in meetings, he made sure to find flaws in every pitch you presented. He stole deals right out from under you, and you made sure to return the favor.

And somehow, despite your mutual hatred, the company refused to separate you.

“You two work well together” your boss had said once, completely ignoring the way you and Seungcheol were glaring daggers at each other across the conference table.

Work well together. Right. If by “well” he meant in the same way oil and water did, then sure.

And tonight was no different.

You were stuck in the office well past midnight, both of you hunched over your respective desks, working on a last minute client proposal. Management had assigned it to both of you, because of course they had—insisting that your “combined talents” would deliver the best results.

You could barely focus with him in the room. every time he shifted, every time he sighed, every time his damn pen scratched against the paper, it grated on your nerves.

“Can you stop breathing so loud?” you snapped, eyes shooting daggers at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realize my existence was such a burden on you.” Seungcheol’s voice dripped with sarcasm, not bothering to look up from his own paperwork.

Your eyes narrowed at the sound of his voice, your grip on your pen tightening until you feared it might snap.

“Don’t call me that,” you spat back. The last thing you needed was for him to think he could get under your skin. But it was already too late.

He chuckled under his breath, the sound irritatingly deep. “You’re really in a mood tonight, huh? What’s wrong, project not turning out the way you wanted?”

You gritted your teeth. “My project is fine.”

“Mm. Sure about that?” He finally looked up from his laptop, leaning back in his chair with that signature smirk you wanted to slap off his face. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re struggling.”

Your eye twitched. You had never hit a coworker before, but tonight might be the night.

“For fuck’s sake” you muttered, shoving your chair back and standing abruptly. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

He mirrored your movement, standing as well, and you hated that he was taller, and that he could look down at you like he was amused.

“I don’t know” he mused, taking a slow step closer. “Do you ever get tired of trying to prove you’re better than me?”

Your jaw clenched. “I don’t have to prove anything. I am better than you.”

His smirk widened, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

The way he said 'sweetheart' was like nails on a chalkboard, and it made something snap inside you.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the way the tension between you had been building for so long, thick and suffocating.

Or maybe it was just him.

The unbearable way he looked at you, like he was daring you to break first.

So you did.

You shoved him—both hands pressed against his chest, pushing with all your strength.

He barely stumbled.

Instead, he grabbed your wrists before you could pull away, spinning you around and pressing your back against your desk.

“What the hell are you—”

“You’ve been waiting to do that, haven’t you?” he murmured, voice low.

You refused to back down. Your chin lifted defiantly. “What, shove you? Yeah. Since the day I met you.”

His fingers tightened around your wrists. “I wasn’t talking about that.”

The air grew thick with something you hadn’t noticed before—or maybe you had, but had ignored it because acknowledging it would mean admitting that you felt something other than pure hatred for him.

“You hate me, right?” he murmured, pressing in closer, his thigh sliding between yours. “So tell me to stop.”

Your nails dug into his wrists, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “Fuck you.”

His lips curled. “That’s what I thought.”

Before you could protest, his mouth was on yours. His hand moved, fingers wrapping around your jaw, grip just tight enough to make you suck in a breath.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was violent, all teeth and dominance and raw frustration.

His hands slid down, gripping your hips so tight it hurt, lifting you onto the desk as his body slotted between your legs. You yanked at his shirt, pulling him even closer, biting down on his lip just to make him groan.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you panted against his mouth.

He laughed darkly, his fingers already working the buttons of your blouse. “Of course not.”

And yet, the way he dragged his hands down your body like he needed to memorize every inch, told a different story.

Your skirt was shoved up, your underwear pushed aside, and then— a sharp gasp left your lips as his fingers slid inside you, finding you embarrassingly wet.

He groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. “Fuck. This whole ? You’ve been this soaked, and you’ve been acting like you hate me?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer, but he wasn’t having it.

“Tell me,” he murmured, curling his fingers, dragging a moan from you. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

You shook your head, breathless, defiant. “You don’t get to win.”

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I already won the moment you let me touch you.”

Your cheeks burned with fury, and you bucked your hips, trying to dislodge his hand. But it was too late. His thumb found your clit, circling it in a way that made your knees tremble.

You wanted to slap the smug grin off his face, to wipe the victory from his eyes. But as he continued to kiss you, all thought of anything other than the heat between you disappeared. Your hands moved of their own accord, reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. You didn’t want this, you told yourself, but your body had other ideas.

Seungcheol’s other hand reached up his thumb brushing against the swell of your breast, making your breath hitch. The friction of his trousers against your thighs was agonizing, the fabric rough against your sensitive skin. You could feel his erection pressing into your stomach, demanding attention.

“Say you hate me again,” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and tickling. “Say it while you’re dripping all over my fingers.”

You bit back a moan, hating how much his words affected you. But you weren’t about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much you craved this.

So, you spat out the words with all the venom you had left. “I fucking hate you, Choi Seungcheol.”

His eyes darkened, his smile turning feral. “Keep saying it” he murmured, his thumb moving faster on your clit. “Let’s see if you can convince either of us.”

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, a whimper escaping your throat. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—”

Seungcheol’s eyes burned into yours, he cut you off by sliding another finger inside you, stretching you out, as you felt the beginnings of a climax building.

His pace was brutal, pumping his fingers into you with no hesitation, curling them just right until your legs threatened to give out.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Bet you touch yourself thinking about me.”

You swallowed down the moan rising in your throat, your eyes squeezed shut. You clenched around his fingers, making him chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

You were so close, so fucking close, but you’d be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“Fucking asshole,” you bit out, even as your body begged for release.

His fingers pulled out of you instantly, leaving you empty, and you were about to curse at him until he grabbed your hips, yanking you back against him roughly.

“You want it rough?” he taunted, the sound of his belt unbuckling making your stomach tighten with anticipation. You didn’t answer, your breathing ragged.

You hated him for making you feel like this, for reducing you to this quivering mess of need. You hated him, hated the way his hands felt on you, hated how badly you wanted more. God, you despised Choi Seungcheol, and yet here you were, letting him do whatever he wanted to your body.

He slammed into you, all at once, stretching you open so suddenly that all you could do was gasp. The words died on your tongue, your nails digging into his arms, and his low groan against your ear sent a shiver down your spine.

“Look at you” he murmured, as he pulled out just enough to thrust back in, the force pushing you further up the desk. “So fucking cocky in the office, but now? You’re letting me fuck you open without a fight?”

You smirked, breathless. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t fight.”

And just to prove your point, you lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist and rolling your hips deliberately. He cursed, his fingers flexing against your skin before he retaliated, grabbing the back of your knee and pushing your leg higher, forcing you open even more.

“You really wanna test me right now?” he growled, punctuating the words with a brutal thrust that had your head falling back against the desk.

Your moan echoed through the quiet office, and you knew the moment he heard it that you’d lost the upper hand.

"That’s more like it,” he muttered, dragging his lips along your jaw before biting down just enough to leave a mark. “All that attitude, but at the end of the day, this is what you really wanted, isn’t it?”

You refused to give him that satisfaction. “Fuck you.”

“You are.”

Your glare was half-hearted at best, especially when he pulled back just to watch himself sink into you again, a low groan slipping past his lips. “Shit. You’re squeezing me so tight. You sure you hate me?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer, but the way your body responded to him told the truth.

Seungcheol knew it. And he was eating it up.

“I could make you cum just like this, couldn’t I?” he murmured against your ear, rolling his hips in a way that had you gasping. “Just from my cock stretching you open, fucking you deep, making you feel exactly how you’re supposed to?”

Your hands fisted in his shirt, your pride hanging by a thread. You couldn’t let him win. But then he moved his hand from your thigh to your throat, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

His grip wasn’t tight—just enough pressure to keep you grounded, and make your head spin with something you didn’t want to name.

“Say it.” His voice was a low command, rough and dripping with dominance. “Say you need me to make you cum.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing against his palm. Suddenly his other hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease.

Your entire body jolted at the contact, a choked moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. The overstimulation of his cock driving into you, his hand wrapped around your throat, and now his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles—it was too much.

“Seungcheol—”

“Say it.” His lips brushed against your jaw. “Or should I stop?”

You gasped, shaking your head immediately. “Don’t.”

He smirked against your skin, but his movements slowed, teasing. “Then say it.”

Your pride was shattered, as your body trembled with need. You couldn’t hold out anymore, not when the pleasure was coiling so tight in your stomach, threatening to snap.

“Fuck—I need you,” you whispered, barely audible.

Seungcheol groaned, his cock twitching inside you, but it wasn’t enough. “Louder.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your face burning“I need you to make me cum.”

The satisfaction in his chuckle made you want to slap him, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Because the moment the words left your mouth, he was relentless. His thrusts turned brutal, his fingers pressing harder against your clit, his grip on your throat tightening just slightly.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, possessive and smug.

The way he said it sent you spiraling, making the pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your entire body tensed, your walls fluttering around him as your orgasm hit you like a truck. You were barely aware of the sounds you were making—half moan, half desperate cry, until you felt him groan against your skin.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he whined, his rhythm faltering. “Look at you—fuck—so pretty when you cum for me.”

His hips stuttered, his hands gripping you even tighter as he thrust deep one last time, his own release hitting him with a guttural groan. You felt, the warmth, and the way he pulsed inside you—and fuck, you shouldn’t have liked it as much as you did.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath, the only sound in the room the ragged inhales and exhales of two people who had just crossed a line they could never uncross.

Then, slowly, Seungcheol leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath still uneven.

“Still think you don’t need me?” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your glare was weak, your limbs too spent to push him away. “Shut up.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest, “So, are we going to pretend like this never happened or...?”

his fingers brushed along your thigh almost absentmindedly as he pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and exposed. You reached down to fix your skirt, your cheeks still flushed with the intensity of your orgasm.

And that’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t the end.

This was just the beginning.

more.┈✦

[stunie]

“OH? NEED SOME HELP?”

WIND BREAKER + “HELPING” YOU OUT. ft. choji tomiyama, hayato suo, kaji ren, kiryu mitsuki, sakura haruka, togame jo, umemiya hajime, & sugishita kyotaro x f!reader

filled request: “Bofurin + Shishitoren guys with a gf who has a minor temporary injury that leaves her a little helpless and them realizing they find her helplessness kinda hot.”

mdni - suggestive; 3.1K wc. thank you for sending this in :> it’s been a while since i did lil hcs like this !! hope u enjoy nonnie <3

TOGAME JO.

Togame’s eyes are locked on your mouth.

Or more specifically, the way your pretty lips are currently wrapped around his ramune bottle, throat moving up and down with each gulp of soda that you swallow. It had been your idea to have him feed it to you like this, hold the bottle up to your lips as you sip, eyes gently fluttering shut to better savor the taste.

“I can’t really do anything with my hands in my current state.” He remembers you giggling before gesturing to his unopened ramune bottle. It was only 2 PM when you had asked this, but his entire day has been… challenging, to say the least. He’s spent nearly every minute helping you like this, never really realizing just how much you need your hands until you were back at his side every five minutes to ask for another favor.

And as if the world wanted to spite him, it started off with you asking him to brush your teeth. He had you seated on a stool, your mouth falling open in a lewd ‘o’ as he tilted your head and brushed them for you, but the thought of prying around inside your mouth already had him breathing hot and heavy. Not to the mention you had asked him to brush your tongue only a moment after, lolling it out with an ‘ahhh’ so he could apparently “reach it better.”

The ramune bottle was just the incident that happened to tip him right over the edge.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware of just how nice your lips look when they're pressed against the glass, and as soon you swallowed your first sip— confused and clueless eyes flickering to him when you noticed him staring— he felt himself gulp as well.

It doesn’t take him much longer to get carried away, his mind racing with all kinds of.. thoughts. He wonders if your lips would look any different if they were pressed against his dick instead of the glass. Or how’d your mouth would feel around him if he shot a load down your throat with your head hanging off the edge of the bed.

And you can’t use your hands…. so what’ll you do if he takes you against the wall? Would you just drape your arms over his shoulder and let him bully his cock into you over and over? You wouldn’t be able to clench your fists or even claw at his back. You’d just have to hang on and take it, wouldn’t you?

Choji’s words finally start to make sense to him.

It’s been nagging at him for a while now. He’d always get pulled out of his trance with a rough jab to his cheek, followed by Choji’s face emerging in front of him, grumbling something about “the way you look at her! You’re such a weirdo.”

He hadn’t really understood what he meant by that at first. He was just looking at his girl, wasn’t he? But when he’s watching the way you’re licking at the corners of your lips, whining about how some soda has started to drip down your chin, he thinks he gets what Choji meant now.

SAKURA HARUKA. cw food

“Thanks for helping me, Haru.”

You’re leaning forward with a little smile before your mouth parts open in a cheerful “ahhh,” watching the way Sakura’s shaky hand comes to feed you another spoonful of Lucky Charms. “O-of course. I said it was no problem.” He scoffs, a light dusting of red across his cheeks as soon as you’re taking a bite with a hum.

A part of him feels guilty for having these types of thoughts when he’s only feeding you some cereal. He’s been trying to get it all out of his head, trying to think of everything and anything that’ll get him soft, but it’s not working. It’s not leaving his mind. And as if his luck couldn’t get any worse, a bit of milk dribbles from the side of your mouth and you gasp loudly.

“Ah! Can you get that?”

You’re leaning in closer, and wait- was it even possible for you to be any closer? Your face is just a couple inches in front of his as you angle your head, gesturing for him to help. You’re way too close, way way too close for comfort, and oh- fuck.

There’s no napkin.

His thumb comes to swipe at your mouth before his mind even processes what he’s doing, finger pressing into your lip as you stare up at him with an unfamiliar look in your eyes. And oh… suddenly he’s keenly aware of how how you feel under his fingertip, how soft your lips feel against him, and the way you’re practically on your knees peering up at him like this..

It has his mind racing.

This sight of you— all helpless and confused, not a clue in the world about what he’s thinking about is just too much for him to handle. The thoughts he was so desperately trying to get rid of are storming back in his head with a newfound intensity the next second, and he knows it’s all over for him.

CHOJI TOMIYAMA.

“This is easy.” Choji smiles, bumping his back up into you with a huff to get a better grip on your thighs as he carries you home. He has you draped over his back, your arms wrapped around his neck as you try to hold back your sniffles. Probably twisted it, he had said, but he wasn’t gonna let something like this ruin your date night. He’s got your shoes in his bag, and.. it’s actually quite nice to have you this close to him.

It’s only about halfway home when he starts to notice it. particularly, the sound of your breathing against his ear.

Very sharp inhales and very shaky exhales.

It hurts, doesn’t it? he can tell just with one look at you. You’ve been biting your lip, tears brimming along your lashes as you try to ignore the pain. It’s a little hard for him to think of anything else with the way this feeling’s bubbling up inside him each time your breath fans right against the outer shell of his ear.

They sound so familiar, and he’s thinking hard. What was it again?

Was this how you sounded when he forces one last orgasm out of you? It’s close, he thinks, but not quite. Your chest is heaving up and down by that point. So maybe it’s when he teases you a little too much? Slowing down right before you reach your high? Yeah, that’s better. That’s when you start sniffling like this.

Choji’s suddenly much more aware of your presence- your body— he can vividly feel the way your tits are pressing up against his back, and he knows exactly how’d they look right now. Just this feeling against his back is enough to have him squeezing your thigh a little harder, jaw clenching just enough for you to not notice a thing.

Such a pretty girl can only rely on him to take you home, right? No one else?

He’s absolutely ecstatic at the fact.

HAYATO SUO.

You haven’t noticed him just yet.

Suo keeps his distance, watching the way you struggle to reach into your cabinet, groaning as you try and stretch just a couple more inches to grab that bowl. On a normal day, you could just go onto the tips of your toes and reach them, but with the way your right foot is all wrapped up, you can’t go much further than this.

He has to stifle a laugh when he hears a dramatic sigh followed a muttered curse under your breath, and he watches in amusement as you take a step back to just glare at the assortment of bowls lining your cabinet, hand coming to angrily rest on your hip as you shift your weight back on your good foot.

“So fuckin’ annoying,” he hears you grumble. “Why’s it so high in the first place?”

This would probably be a good time to help, suo thinks.

“You know, you could have asked me for help, love.” He whispers straight into your ear, hovering over your shoulder as his tassel earrings tickle the skin, and you violently jolt forward at the presence, head whipping around in a flash. “Hayato!? Y-you scared me..!”

He takes a step forward with a lighthearted chuckle, observant eyes immediately noticing the way your lips press into a nervous line when his arms fall beside you, caging you flush against the counter as you stumble backwards on your good foot. “You didn’t tell me you got hurt. What happened?”

You’re not looking at him anymore.

“Oh..” you mumble. “It’s kinda embarrassing, so I didn’t tell you.”

He’s silent, but his eyes are glued to your foot until you finally continue, voice coming out unsteady with how intense his gaze feels. “But since you’re here… that bowl,” you shyly point above you. “Can you get it? … Please?”

The silence has your heart racing. He has you pressed up close against the counter with nowhere to go, and he’s so awfully close. Staring too, and you can’t quite pinpoint the emotion in his eyes. Or eye.

It makes it even harder to tell what he’s thinking.

“Course I can help,” and you’re narrowing your eyes at the all too innocent smile that’s coming back to his face a second after, as if he didn’t just spent a good ten seconds staring at your foot with a weirdly stern look on his face.

You know Suo better than this, though. There’s usually a ‘but’ that’ll follow.

“But…” and there it is. “I’m a little curious. Let me take a look first.”

“You don’t need t—ah! Hayato?!” You squeal when he’s hooking his hand under your knee, your arms immediately slamming onto the countertop to catch yourself as he lifts your leg up. “—The hell are you doing?”

Suo kneels down with a soft smile, a stark contrast to the firm grip he’s got around your leg as he lifts it up even higher, content with the way the back of your hand has come to nervously cover your mouth.

“Just taking a look at your injury, love.” He peers up at you through half lidded eyes, watching your every reaction— and the way you’re looking at him with those shocked eyes is just endearing.

“Why? Are you having other ideas?”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. reader described as having soft skin, also asks ume once if you’re heavy (you’re not).

“Carry you? Of course I can! How do you want it?”

Umemiya’s practically bouncing up and down at the request, eager to hear that you’re finally ready to be moving around the house again. You’ve barely been up since your injury, only movement being the occasional stumble to use the restroom, and he’s been worried sick over it.

“Um...” your voice trails off a bit, eyebrows deeply furrowed in embarrassment. “You have to carry me over your shoulder. It’ll put less strain on it.”

He’s nodding right away, leaning down with an enthusiastic smile as he hoists you over his shoulder the next instant— laughter erupting from his chest when he hears you gasp, but he doesn't miss the way your ass jiggles a bit when you wiggle in his hold.

Actually...his eyes widen a bit. Are those shorts new? He’s never seen them before. They’re really.. short.

So short that he can see about a quarter of your ass like this, the skin peeking out from underneath the fabric, even more so because they’ve hiked further up when he tossed you over his shoulder.

His gaze shifts down a bit, and he starts to notice how good your thighs look when they’re flush against his chest like this. He can tell they're soft, but that’s not really a surprise to him. Your skin has always always soft— he knows this because he's used your lotions now and then. They always make him feel ten times softer himself.

Not that you need to know.

“A-am i heavy? Why aren't you moving?” The unsteadiness in your voice doesn't help his situation much. There’s a little noise of exertion, one too close to a moan that slips from your mouth when you try to push at his shoulders to crane your neck and see what's wrong. “..Haji?”

“You’re not heavy at all, silly.” He laughs, ignoring the way his pants suddenly feel tight. “Don’t worry about it.”

SUGISHITA KYOTARO.

“Glaring at it won’t make it go away, Kyo.” You giggle, hands coming to gently pat at Sugishita’s head. He’s got you propped up on your bathroom counter, one of his knees on the floor as he rests your injured ankle on top of it.

There’s a huff from your boyfriend, scowl deeper than ever as he focuses on squeezing some of your cooling gel onto his finger, making undoubtedly sure he’s only squeezing the exact amount you needed. “Stay still.”

He’s gentle when he applies the gel, scowl contorting to display a hint of sadness and worry when you flinch at the contact, but you’re relaxing into his touch as soon as the gel starts to numb your skin, sighing at the feather-light touches running up and down your ankle.

Sugishita’s gaze flickers to you as soon as he sees that your eyes have flutter shut, head tilting back to sigh at his touch. It makes him think. he’s rubbing at your skin, situated right between your legs, and you’re…breathing loudly. Very loudly. With your head tilted back.

And if you just glanced back down at him… your mouth would be parted in a little ‘o’ right? The same way you look at him just before he’s about to eat you out?

Oh.

“…Kyo?” the sound soft of your voice pulls him right out of his thoughts, and his head is jerking back to you. You are, as a matter of fact, glancing right down at him with those innocent eyes of yours. He can tell you don’t have a single clue about the thoughts whirling around in his head, even though you’ve got a 6’3 man sitting right between your legs staring at you with the hungriest look you’ve ever seen in your life.

KIRYU MITSUKI.

“Suki..?” Your voice comes out as a shaky whisper, and your boyfriend stirs a bit from where he’s seated on his bed, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as you rest your head on his shoulder. “Mm….yes, pretty?”

“‘M scared.” You tighten your embrace around him. “I don’t wanna fall asleep and move … and accidentally fuck up my back even more. It hurts.”

You exhale shakily when his hand comes to massage gentle circles along your back, skipping over the area you’ve strained earlier that week. “Aww,” he coos, tired eyes locking with yours before he’s leaning forward to pepper kisses along your shoulder. “Hmmm…”

“Let’s see….” he humming in thought, gentle vibrations of his voice soothing your nerves a bit. “Then let’s do this. Don’t make any sudden movements, ‘kay?”

You nod.

He’s shifting the next second, laying his head on his pillow with a soft grunt as he pulls you on top of him, your thighs straddling his hips as you move to hug him again. Kiryu’s careful, gentle when he adjusts a bit so you can better wrap your arms around his body and get comfortable without your back flaring up again.

“Better? Hug me just like this.” His arms wrap around your waist, cautious of the area you’ve hurt. “And you won’t be budging in your sleep. Right? We’re stuck together.”

“Now close your eyes, love. I’m right here.”

KAJI REN.

“S-sorry for making you carry me back,” you stammer, both hands holding a fistful of kaji’s shirt as he carries you bridal style. You can hear his teeth nervously biting down on the hard candy, and you can hear the sound of his music blasting in his ears even clearer.

He seems to have noticed you speaking regardless, eyebrows furrowing a bit as he tries to read your lips. It was something he’s improved on since meeting you, but he can only read your lips. He’s only tried reading yours, anyways. There would be no point in his headphones if he could understand other people’s words.

You were the sole exception.

There’s no response from him, but you’re not surprised, because Kaji never talks to you when his headphones are in. Not again, never again after Kusumi showed him a video of just how loud his voice gets when he yells over his music.

he wouldn’t want to risk scaring you with the sound.

A quick nod is all he gives you, eyes shifting to the side to mask the heat spreading up his cheeks. You’re already too damn cute for your own good, and it’s not helping with the way you’re not looking away from him.

Why are you staring so hard in the first place?

He wants to tell you to quit doing that, maybe quiet you down with a lollipop because he can still see your mouth moving in his peripheral vision… but he won’t.

Because he doesn’t have an excuse to why he’s blushing so hard. It was obvious. He has you right in his arms, completely helpless and depending on him to get you home… how else would he act in this state? Kaji wonders for a moment if you can hear the wild thumping of his heart, or maybe hear the unsteadiness in his breathing.. god, he sure hoped not.

Your eyes widen a bit when you notice his face suddenly contorting to a scowl, your words fading into a confused hum. Did you do something?

You’re immediately whipping out your phone from your front pocket, ignoring the way Kaji’s glare is still burning a hole into the street beside him, scowl worsening with each passing second.

“Kusumi…” you type out. “He looks really mad all of a sudden.”

The typing bubble under his name pops up only a second later, and you tilt your phone a bit to hide your screen in the rare chance that Kaji does finally look back at you.

your eyes scan over the text that follows.

Kusumi: He’s probably just blushing. We made him carry you for a reason. Wrap your arms around his neck and see for yourself !!

[ozzgin]

Ahhh!!! I love monster streaming concept so much! If its not a problem for you can u share some hcs about it? Anything is fine to me tbh. Im really curious how their beloved monster watchers would react for y/n trying out different streaming videos (like gameplays etc idkkkk)

LizardKing5 would probably bully you every now and then. "You already died? Noob." He'll frequently suggest horror games, so he can tease you about being scared easily. He'll joke about your choices or gaming style. At the same time, he'll send you guides, buy you in-game items, and bark at anyone else who dares to critique your skills. Only he can do that.

User0385485: man, those are some piss poor skills LizardKing5: Shut your hole before I close it with my own fist, PUNK!!11 LizardKing5: Don't listen to this idiot, just focus on the tips I sent you yesterday.

SharkMan is completely clueless. He's not into gaming, as he considers himself way too old for that, but he supports you nonetheless. He'll watch all of your streams religiously and cheer on you, even when it makes no sense whatsoever. Additionally, he'll gift you ridiculously expensive and unnecessarily advanced computer parts and accessories. He doesn't know what you need, so he just buys whatever has the highest price for good measure.

SharkMan: Fantastic work, (Y/N). LizardKing5: What are you talking about, man? This dumbass scored last place every single round!!!

HornyMantis keeps suggesting adult games, or leaves out of pocket, deranged comments during your gameplays. He couldn't care less about what you're doing, as long as he can see your face (and boobs).

HornyMantis: wow nice shot HornyMantis: u know what would make this match even better HornyMantis: if u were shirtless

DefNotAStalker keeps to himself. He just quietly observes you play and never really comments. When you leave your desk, he sometimes updates the games for you, or changes some settings, or finishes a level you were struggling with. It leaves both you and your followers confused, wondering how you managed to skip over parts or beat a challenge you kept failing a moment ago.

Y/NSimp will support you in anything you want to do. He'll pretend he's knowledgeable about gaming, but in reality he's deplorably bad at it. Secretly jealous of SharkMan and LizardKing5 for hogging all the attention, either with gifts or with useful advice.

Y/NSimp: Heh...I actually beat this level in two minutes. Y/NSimp: I could give you some tips in private if you want, (Y/N). Not to brag, but I'm a bit of a pro haha Y/NSimp: Oh, I see you already ended the stream Y/NSimp: Hello??

[Monster Streaming] | [All Monster Series]

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o stuttering while explaining something

Request: Celeste hello it's me again LMAOOO I hope you're doing fine my queen 🫶 so hear me out, ot13 with s/o that always stutter whenever they tried to talk with them or explain something that they don't understand. I hate that whenever I tried to explain something to my friends, I'm always stuttering ended up I became quite person 😔 idk if you already nake it or not.

- ⭐️ anon

A/N: Aww my love, first of all, you’re amazing just the way you are and stuttering when explaining something doesn’t make you any less smart or capable! Please don’t let stuttering stop you from speaking up. You have important things to say and your voice deserves to be heard! Sending you so much love!

Absolutely Patient Kings (Would Wait Forever for You to Finish Without Rushing You)

Joshua: The most reassuring and patient partner. He’d probably hold your hands while you talk, nodding and smiling to encourage you. If you got flustered, he’d rub your back and say, “No rush, sweetheart. Just tell me however you can.” Even if you ended up not finishing your explanation, he’d still act like he understood just to make you feel better.

Wonwoo: He’d just stare at you with soft eyes, never once interrupting or making you feel rushed. If you got too frustrated, he’d calmly say, “It’s okay, take your time.” He hates the thought of you going quiet because you feel insecure. If you ever gave up mid-sentence, he’d encourage you to try again or just wait until you feel ready.

Woozi: He might seem intimidating at first but he’s actually super patient. He understands that thoughts can be hard to put into words sometimes (since yk, he's a songwriter sou; it's different from stuttering but you get the point), so he’d just listen, nodding along to make you feel comfortable. If you ever got upset, he’d softly say, “It’s fine, baby. Just say whatever comes to mind. I get you.”

Encouraging Sweethearts (Would Help You Find the Right Words Without Making You Feel Bad)

Dokyeom: Would be the most verbal with his support. “Awww, my baby is working so hard to explain! So cute.” If you got upset, he’d say, “Hey, hey! No getting mad at yourself. Take your time, jagi. I’ll wait forever if I have to!” He’d try to finish your sentences but only if you wanted him to. If you shook your head, he’d laugh and say, “Okay, okay! I won’t guess, you got this!”

Mingyu: Would physically encourage you like nodding enthusiastically, leaning in closer, or squeezing your hands. If you got too flustered, he’d pout and say, “Why are you embarrassed? I love hearing you talk!” He’d make you feel so so so safe that even if you were stuttering like crazy, you wouldn’t feel judged at all.

Seungkwan: He’d notice if you’re struggling and immediately jump in to help. “Wait, are you trying to say [this]?” If he guessed wrong, he’d giggle and say, “Oops, my bad. Keep going, baby, I’m listening.” He’d never let you feel embarrassed about stuttering—he’d even make fun of himself for the times he trips over his own words just to make you laugh lol. That's how much of a sweetheart our boo seungkwan is.

Dino: Dino would be so supportive but also a little bit awkward at first because he wouldn’t know how to help. He’d be like, “Uh…do you need me to like…wait? Or should I help?” He would never judge you and over time, he’d probably develop his own way of helping you feel comfortable. He’d even joke around like, “It’s okay, jagiya, I stutter when I rap too!”

Would Try to Decode Your Words (Determined to Understand You No Matter What)

Jun: Would be the most dramatic about it in the cutest way. If you stuttered too much, he’d go, “Ahhh! The suspense! I must know what you’re trying to say!” He’d grab your shoulders and act like he’s on the edge of his seat. You’d roll your eyes, but his goofy ass would make you laugh and forget about feeling insecure.

Hoshi: Would take this as a challenge. If you stuttered too much, he’d squint and go, “Okay, wait. I think you’re trying to say...hmm…” He’d get all dramatic about it, acting like Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a mystery. “Okay, one more time, baby! I’m almost there!” You’d end up laughing and he’d just grin and say, “See? No stress! Just talk however you want.”

Vernon: Would be so chill about it that you wouldn’t even feel nervous after a while. He’d nod and hum while you talk, even if you were struggling to explain. If you gave up, he’d shrug and say, “It’s cool, I kinda get what you mean. But also, no pressure, you don’t have to explain if you don’t wanna.” He’d make you feel like stuttering isn’t a big deal at all, which would actually help you feel less self-conscious.

Would Try to ‘Fix’ the Problem (But Only Because They Love You So Much)

Seungcheol: He’d notice if you were getting frustrated with yourself and would not let that slide. “Hey. Stop that. You’re explaining just fine.” If you got quiet, he’d cup your face, “You don’t have to rush. Just say what you can.” He’d be so reassuring that even if you were a mess of stutters, you’d feel safe trying again.

Jeonghan: Would tease you about it but only to make you laugh and ease your nerves. If you got too flustered, he’d smirk and say, “Why are you so nervous? It’s just me, angel.” He’d never let you feel insecure but if he saw you getting upset, he’d immediately drop the teasing and softly say, “I’ll wait as long as it takes, okay?”

Minghao: Hao hates seeing you get frustrated. He’d say (with that soft voice of his), “Take a deep breath, love. No need to rush.” But if you kept struggling, he’d eventually ask, “Do you want me to guess? Or should we write it down instead?” He wouldn’t want to “fix” you but would try to find ways to make you feel less stressed about talking.

[viperify]

AHHHH CONGRATS ON 1k LOVELY MWAHHHH

Running to be ur first ask bc this is all so delicious I'm holding back I fear

House rivals (or enemies to lovers, whatever is easier)

Smut, maybe dabbles of angst

“I know every sound you make. Every spot that makes you shiver. Don’t pretend I don’t still own you.”

"You keep coming back. You don't want closure—you want me to make you feel again."

1k celebration | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Feel Again.

Short Summary: You can’t let him go, can’t forget him. Tom knows and thrives on it.

Warnings: 18+ only! rough sex, manipulative!Tom, toxic!Tom, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, impact play, degradation, praise, creampie, cum play

A/N: ahhh my first fic for my event!!! (This is really long. I can’t write under 1k words, I fear—which will probably become a problem.) Thank you so much for requesting, @juliet-017!!! I hope you enjoy and ilysm!! <3

wordcount: 1,8k

In this fic, you will find HINT NR #1.

You leave Dumbledore’s office with a heavy sigh, fingers clenched tightly around the note he’s given you—and as soon as you’re back in your dorm, you cast Incendio on the paper.

He must really hate you, damn it.

Pairing you for tutoring lessons with Tom Riddle. Slytherin’s know-it-all, prefect, head boy, every professor’s favourite student… Merlin, a shiver runs down your spine at the mere thought of having to spend another two hours with him—especially when it’s Ancient Runes he is going to be helping you with.

You still question to this day why on earth you decided to choose it as an elective. However, back then, when you heard Tom would be doing it—you just couldn’t resist. You thought it’d be easy to beat him, to finally show him he wasn’t as intelligent as he thought. Coming from the Muggle world surely meant he would have a disadvantage, and you’d just study hard the summer before, using the countless ancient books in your home’s library to get familiar with the topics covered in the first year.

Now, it all played out just a little bit differently.

A tiny bit.

Turns out you shouldn’t have underestimated Tom Riddle, because obviously he is a natural at it. Translates and identifies the runes in seconds, shines in participation, sucks up to the teacher—who can’t help but praise him each time gets get something right.

And his eyes would always find yours briefly, smug expression on his face, because he knows. He knows why you chose the same subject as him, he knows what you were trying to achieve.

He just knows you too well, and you hate it. You hate that you let him in back then, letting him make you believe in love—which, naturally, sounds ironic when speaking about someone like Riddle. But it felt so good. So real. You shared your secrets with him, invited him to your house, let him meet your parents. And he was so polite, too—charming smile on his lips, calculated and respectful answers. They loved him.

Until, one day, he stopped seeing you. Out of the blue, he paid no more attention to you. He went as far as to pretend you didn’t exist whenever you tried to speak to him.

You being a Gryffindor didn’t make it any easier either. He spent more time in his common room or dorm, giving him a place you couldn’t access. And your friends—well, they didn’t understand why you dated him in the first place.

It broke you. At first, you wanted to know why. Why he left, why he cut ties as if you never mattered.

But later, you just wanted him again. His warmth, his kisses, his hands on your bare skin, the softness in his eyes he only had when he was with you.

You wanted to hurt his ego by challenging him academically, by ruining his perfect streak of being the best literally everywhere.

And now—Dumbledore ordered you to take tutoring lessons with none other than Tom Riddle himself. In the very subject you thought you had a chance at beating him in.

A long sigh leaves your lips before you step out of your dorm. It’s five minutes until your meeting at the library, and you really wish you had just studied more. The thought of having to speak to him for two whole hours, act like nothing ever happened makes you want to curl up in bed and not get up for the rest of the day.

Tom’s casually leaning against the wall when you round the corner, books pressed tightly to your chest. When you walk up to him, he turns towards you.

His eyes take you in, scanning your body before they meet yours—the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk when he reads your expression.

“Library is too busy,” he says, cold and calculated. “I suggest we go to my dorm instead, as I can’t enter yours.”

You swear when you passed the library just an hour ago, there were barely any people. And even now, most students would be getting ready for dinner. You glance towards the entrance, back at him, and just stare for a second.

Then, you nod, following him into dungeons. To his dorm. You haven’t seen it in what feels like ages. Made bedsheets, very little decoration, tidy bookshelves. Although he’d spend most of his time studying, his entire dorm was spotless. The smell—sandalwood like his perfume. Mattress so much softer than yours. His arms, wrapped around you—

Merlin.

“Are you even paying attention?” He asks, and you are snapped out of your thoughts in an instant. “Clearly you are failing because you can’t concentrate for more than three minutes.”

You huff. “It’s not that. It’s not that, and you know it.”

He looks at you as though you just spoke a foreign language. Eyes cold, expression controlled, but the tension between the both of you is undeniable at this point.

“Do enlighten me.”

Your knuckles turn white at how tight you are gripping your quill.

“You act like nothing happened. Like everything is fine and we don’t know each other—all while I know every single corner of this room, because—“ and you have to swallow to stop your voice from breaking. You really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Because you showed me. Made me believe you truly felt for me, just to leave and treat me as a nobody. That is why, Tom.”

He just stares at you for a moment. Not in disbelief, because obviously he knows. Lets his eyes linger on yours for just a moment, just to make you feel it. The tension, the want. He isn’t sorry for what happened—never. But he’d hate to admit he did miss you too—in his own twisted way.

"You keep coming back. Nobody forced you to accept the tutoring lessons with me—and yet, you did. You don't want closure—you want me to make you feel again."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Because deep down you know he is right.

“I don’t—“ you start, but then shake your head, stopping yourself from explaining any further. “Forget it.” Instead, you get up, gathering your belongings, and you turn to leave—before his hand wraps around your upper arm, stopping you. You flinch at the contact—even through your robes you could feel his warmth.

”Feisty like a true Gryffindor. Dumbledore would be proud.”

The next moment, he’s got you trapped against the wall, your favourite dark brown eyes slowly transforming into those you knew from back then—fiery, hungry.

His hand wraps around your throat, softly, thumb deliberately tracing along your vein—exactly like he knows you love it. What will make you gasp, lean into his touch. Because you’ve been craving this feeling for way too fucking long.

"I know every sound you make. Every spot that makes you shiver. Don't pretend I don't still own you." His voice is low, barely above a whisper when he says it. And when you open your mouth to complain, tell him off, even though you know he’s right—his lips crash on yours.

You’re left gasping when you part—but he doesn’t even give you time to collect your thoughts. The next second his hand tugs on your robes, pulling them off you without any effort whatsoever—and you do the same to him. Fast and hungry, as though you’ve been starving and he is your last meal.

Fuck it, maybe he is. You don’t care. You just want to feel him again.

Hands stripping you from your clothing faster than you can blink, and soon enough you are left bare on his bed, face pushed into the pillow below you, back arched at an angle it hurts. You don’t care. 

His palm comes down on your ass once, twice, three times—leaving a stinging feeling each time. You love it. You’ve missed this. Missed him like this.

You don’t even care when he pushes inside without wasting another second on foreplay—because you’ve been wet for the entirety of your tutoring session anyway.

Tom doesn’t hold back—his thrusts are merciless and quick. Fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips, pulling you back against him as you rock forward with each snap of his hips. You are sure you’ll be bruised by tomorrow, and again—you can’t bring yourself to care.

“That’s a good slut. Still as tight as ever.” He rasps, fingers curling in your hair, pulling your head up as he slams into you. “Missed this pussy— fuck— mine.”

His words make your head spin—and you clench down tightly around him, drawing a groan from his lips. You threaten to drown in the feeling of him stretching you open so perfectly, the feeling of his tip brushing against your cervix with every single thrust.

“Who do you belong to? Say it.” He growls, pulling you up by your hair so your back is flush against his chest. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Say.” Thrust. “It.” Thrust.

You’re lucky you can even make sense of his words at this point—mind hazy with lust and the new angle that has you seeing stars, vision going black at the edges.

“You. I am yours, Tom— fuck— all yours!” You whine, and he pushes you back into the pillow. Firm and rough, making you stay there.

It doesn’t take long before his other hand slips beneath you, finding your swollen clit—rubbing tight circles on the sensitive nub, just how he knows you’ll shatter.

And you do. A moan slips past your lips as you tip over the edge, so loud not even the thick fabric beneath you does a good job muffling it. “Oh God—“ you repeat like a mantra as you shake and convulse, walls clamping down around his cock, so tight he follows your lead seconds later—not even caring to pull out, thick, hot ropes of his release painting your walls white. You don’t care to complain—not right now.

“Good girl. Still taking me so well.” Tom fucks you through it, only pulling out when you whimper in overstimulation. He disappears into the bathroom then, returning two minutes later with a wet towel in his hand.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, and you jolt slightly when you feel his fingers between your folds, gathering his release. “Fucking dripping with me. Can’t let it go to waste, can we?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, you figure—a broken whimper leaving your lips as he pushes his cum back inside of you. 

To your surprise, he allows you to stay that night. Pulls you into his side, even—lets you cuddle into him. You don’t speak much. You don’t have to.

Except for that one time he starts talking.

“Library was empty, by the way.”

“I know.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | 1k celebration. <- event masterlist.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 2) - August!

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this sweet one is set just before they broke it off (or rather, before the reader stomped all over his heart) in part five!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

August! (... slipped away into a moment in time)

It's a fine morning, albeit lazy, you and Ewan having done nothing but lay in bed and talk and cuddle.

Granted, you did a lot more than talk over the course of the night. And this continued in the morning, with Ewan gently coaxing you out of sleep in need.

He's been insatiable, not that you can blame him. You two are finally together, after months of dancing around each other, your friends in eager anticipation to see how the 'will-they, won't they' dynamic will culminate.

They'll be pleased to know that it all led up to the best date you've had so far, followed by a night of bodies burning for the other, marking their territory in the throes of pent-up desire.

Ewan was sure he would remain the gentleman, merely driving you back to your hotel and calling it a night.

But you had invited him upstairs for a nightcap. Maybe some tea, as the Brits do. Needless to say, the tea was quickly forgotten, along with any reservations he might have about simply having you.

The haze of it hasn't subsided. Clad in nothing but undergarments, your limbs are tangled with his under the sheets as you watch the newly released New York foods video he did with Tom a while back.

"Baby?" you say, running your fingers through his hair as he has his head propped on your thighs. The screen plays on, showing the lads thoroughly enjoying some New York City hotdogs.

"Hmm?" he responds, his voice hinting at how soothed he feels from your touch.

"You're such a baby."

"What?" He twists his neck to shoot you a look of betrayal. Adorable.

"I bet those chips weren't even that spicy," you say, rolling your eyes. "I would have devoured those jalapeño chips."

"They were spicy!" He leans against his forearm, which he quickly positioned on your thigh without thinking, causing your muscle to spasm from the sudden weight.

"Ahhh, Ewan!" you wriggle your legs. "Get off, get off..."

"Shit!" He bolts upright, immediately kneading the flesh with his palm. "Sorry, baby. Here, where does it hurt?"

You sigh audibly. "Oh, you." You narrow your eyes at him playfully, trying to look all tough, but apparently he takes it as a cue to press his lips to yours.

It's warm, a bit sloppy, your breaths stale from wine drank over the course of the night. And you don't mind at all.

He croons in your ear, "How do I make it up to you?"

"It's fine, I was only kind of messing - "

"Come now, darling, anything."

He gazes at you, awaiting an answer. In the background, you hear his voice saying, The Fuegos... I didn't like them, as the video comes to a close.

I saw your eyeballs sort of pop out your head a little bit, Tom says in response.

This is going to be fun, you think, smiling evilly to yourself.

Rising to your knees on the bed, you loudly declare, "Today, my love, you will conquer your fears and eat my favourite spicy food."

"Nooo!" He shakes his head right away, already plotting how to get out of this predicament. "Baby, please make me do anything else. I can't handle my spice!"

"My mind is made up."

"What if I do that thing that made you scream last night? When I buried my tongue insi - '

"Ewan!" Your face reddens, but you carry on. His face will soon have the same reaction, but for different, more savoury reasons. "I mean, I would like that but - "

"Alright, let's go baby, spread your knees - " he nods, desperate to placate you and your challenge, but also eager to get down to business.

You shuffle away when he tries to pry your legs open. " - I said I made up my mind! We're eating spicy food. We gotta eat anyway, I'm starving."

He groans, collapsing back on the bed. He runs his hand tiredly over his face, mulling it over. As if he actually has a choice. He wants to do this for you, seeing as how excited you're getting.

"Get up, ol' sport," you crawl on top of him, perching above his stomach. "We're gonna go get the goods."

"Hmm," he sighs contentedly, one look at you more than enough to quell his worries. For now.

"Okay, darling," he relents, then his eyes flash in mischief. "But before we get out of bed... how about I do that thing anyway?"

There is not a single chance in the seven hells that you could ever say no to that.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An interesting spread is laid out on the round dining table in your hotel suite.

Your stomach growls in anticipation, while Ewan is stiff as a board as he sits beside you.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" you nudge him, but he only moans, throwing his head back in his chair.

"What if I'd already eaten? I can skip this?" he tries.

"And what the hell did you eat?"

He smirks, and even though his answer won't save him from what follows, it renders him gleeful all the same. "You," is his reply.

That prompts an eye roll, but you shake your head at him fondly. "What should we start with, baby?"

"Water."

"Come on."

"How about the strawberry milk?"

"Okay, then I'll pick." You clasp your hands, surveying the options. "Let's start with something easy." You settle for the bowl of Flamin Hot Cheetos and place it right in front of him.

You help yourself to a few pieces, before noticing that he hasn't moved a muscle, so you take one and bring it to his lips. "Open up, handsome."

"Mmmm," he tilts his head away on instinct, but he gives in after a second. He makes a face as the snack crunches in his mouth. "Not... bad, I suppose.... Urghhh - " he coughs a little, making you snicker at him between bites.

"That's not spicy at all," you say. "At least, it's nothing compared to what we'll have next."

The chicken wings are an unnatural bright red colour, covered in hot sauce and dotted with flecks of chili. You lean down and take a whiff, your nose scrunching as the strong hint of spice hits your senses.

Your placating smile does nothing to ease Ewan, who only looks like he is regretting his life choices on the spot.

"O-kay, dragonblood. Time to breathe fire," you remark in an attempt to inspire some confidence in him. Didn't he take pride in playing a Targaryen dragonrider? Surely some part of him would want to overcome the big, bad opponent that is known in our world as spicy wings.

"Breathe fire?" he exclaims. "That does not make me feel any better!"

"Do it for Vhagar, my love. Do it for Vhagar."

"I'm doing this for you," he corrects, before gingerly taking the smallest bite of a wing. He waits for the impact, confused when nothing unpleasant occurs.

So he bravely takes another, heartier bite.

Big mistake.

His hand gravitates to the glass of water, and he chugs it down like a lifeline. His once pale face becomes the same hue as the fiery culprit.

"Fffuck, ba...by," he hiccups. "I didn't like that at all."

You have a bite, wincing just a little when it hits your throat. It wasn't too bad, so you tell him to calm down.

He complains anyway, "I think I just saw my life flash right before my eyes."

You chortle at that, which unfortunately makes some of the spice travel up your nose. "Oh god!" You instantly take a huge gulp of milk. "Don't make me laugh!" you say, when the heat dies down.

"See?" he cries out in vindication. "Why must we torture ourselves, darling?"

"The food's tasty," you counter.

"Yeah, but is it worth the price?"

You grip his shoulder, dramatically saying, "We have to keep going, soldier."

"No."

"Yes."

"You won't break up with me if I refuse, will you?"

You pause, making it seem like you are seriously deliberating it. "Maybe."

"What?!" His expression takes on a more real sense of alarm.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, nudging his leg with yours. He leans his head against your shoulder, responding with, "You're mean."

"And you're dating me. What does that say about you?"

He lets out a weary laugh, "That I'm just really in love, I guess."

That almost makes you give up on the challenge entirely. You could just let him eat the pepperoni pizza you have saved as the actual meal. But it wouldn't hurt too much to tackle the grand finale. The final boss. Maybe it will even get his taste buds to crack and cross over to the dark side.

"Baby?" Here goes everything.

"Hmm?"

"It's time for the spicy ramen."

He sighs a true sigh of defeat and acceptance. "If I survive this, you have to swear you're never letting me go."

"That's your bargain? Easy, baby."

His blue eyes bore into yours. His cheeks are still red and he's still sniffling from the spice, but his sentiment holds weight. He shrugs, before his arm reaches out for the bowl of ramen, making it known that he has already accepted his fate.

You slide the glass of milk closer to him.

"Try not to get it on your lips as much as possible," you advise him, growing worried as the ramen pack did warn that it was '2x Spicy'.

You cringe inwardly as a forkful of noodles enters his mouth. He drops his arm, chewing slowly, and finally the food gratefully slides down his throat.

"Mmm," he clears his throat, trying his hardest to remain calm. His forced, blank expression is even more alarming than the alternative.

"Ewan?" He turns his head toward you, slowly. And you see the full extent of the damage. His eyes well with tears, and his breathing is shallow from an even more congested nose.

"I'm okay," he wheezes, trying to maintain a show of boldness for your sake. "I can do this."

"You don't look okay." You shake your head at him, as his face takes on an even deeper shade of red.

A pained grunt escapes him. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

A cursory glace at the ramen sauce staining his lips compels you to protest without a second thought. "How about no? You've got it all over your lips."

"Darling, who cares? You're going to eat them too!" he says, scandalised.

"But I've got a technique. I don't let it touch my lips so it doesn't burn!" You inch away as he leans in.

"So you won't kiss me?" He uses his baby blues against you, eyes bright and shimmering as he pouts in disappointment.

"You don't need a kiss." He tries to grab you, making you stand from your chair to get away. With your palm outstretched, you implore him, "Baby, just drink your milk."

"Then I get a kiss?"

"Fine. Then you get a kiss."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Tom calls you a few days later, his tone animated from the moment you pick up. "Would you look at that! I didn't think I would get a hold of you lovers. Thought you'd be busy doing somethin' else, if y'know what I mean."

"It's noon here, Tom," you reply matter-of-factly, stretching your legs out on the bed.

"So? I reckon Captain Big Balls over there has got it in him."

"Wow," you let out an amused exhale. Tom always did have a way about him, being a Manc and all. "Well, he's in the shower right now if you wanted to speak to him."

"I'm surprised you're not in there with him, love! You guys are all over the news, bloody hell. Even out here, everyone's buzzin' about the hot new couple from House of the Dragon. And no, it's not Matt and Fabien."

You smirk at his last remark, "Are you sure it's not Matt and Fabs?"

"Positive," he says. "But we never know what could happen. Anyway, how in the hell did you convince him?"

You rack your brain for what exactly he could be pertaining to. "Convince him to do what?"

"To create a bloody Instagram profile, that's what!"

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly put him on speaker so you can scroll to the aforementioned app. Sure enough, it doesn't take long for you to sift through your new follower notifications before you find him.

His username is on brand - straightforward and no-frills - just ewanmitchell . Already verified with a hundred thousand followers and counting. In his following list, however, there is only one - your profile.

If the papparazzi pictures and tabloid stories and fan encounters hadn't convinced everyone yet, likely this will.

Ewan, notorious not only for his charisma and pure talent, but also for being steadfast in staying off social media, has sent the entirety of Ewan Nation into a tailspin with his profile.

Icing on the cake - he only follows you.

"You see, this is what convinces the public that you two are not PR," Tom says. "Because Ewan would never, ever get on the socials for just anyone."

"I didn't even know he made this. I haven't been online in quite a bit."

"Been busy, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Doin' a lot of stuff out there?"

"I guess."

"Like Ewan?"

"Tom, I'm going to lynch you when I see you."

He only laughs, having gotten his desired outcome from prodding at you.

The bathroom door slides open, and Ewan steps out with nothing but a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist.

"Who's that?" he mouths at you.

"Tom," you answer loudly, prompting Tom to greet Ewan from the speakerphone.

"Aemond the Fierce!" he bellows, the long-distance call doing nothing to stifle his personality. "I always knew you had it in ya. Ever since you laid eyes on her during the table read, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Well, isn't that a revelation. You had thought it was just you harbouring a crush in the beginning. "The table read, really? I just remember being so nervous," you say.

"I thought you were attractive," Ewan admits, scratching the back of his neck. "And you were reading your lines with such passion that I... "

Tom interrupts, "He ran over to me and told me to show him your social media."

"Not just that, I - "

"He wanted to see whether you had any pictures with a boyfriend or something."

"Alright, alright." Ewan snatches the phone from your hand, as if that will keep Tom from exposing him even more. "How are you, mate?"

"I'm good, lad, and yourself?"

Ewan glances at you, seeing that you've gone back to reading a script, your brow furrowed in concentration.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm great. I'm happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"Over here! Over here!"

"How's your evening going, you guys? How are you enjoying LA?"

The papparazzi needlessly try to make small talk and they flash their cameras in your face. You and Ewan barely have time to grimace at each other once you get inside his car. The restaurant where he took you to dinner hadn't been crawling with paps when you arrived. Someone must have tipped them at some point.

Ewan instinctively reaches for your hand when you've driven some distance away from the restaurant, a breath of relief exiting his lungs.

"That's Hollywood for you, baby," he says amusedly, putting on his best standard American accent.

The car speeds through the streets of LA. Heading to Mount Hollywood, you have the famous Griffith Observatory set as your destination.

You have always wanted to go, and it only took one mention to Ewan before he planned it for your next date.

It doesn't take long before the observatory's iconic structure comes into view. Its white domes seemingly gleam under the night sky, a sentinel watching over the city of Los Angeles.

Stepping out of the car, you take in the scene in awe. The resulting look on your face lets Ewan know he made the right choice in taking you here. He'd take you here everyday if it meant seeing you in a spell of childlike wonder.

The observatory itself is just a bonus.

The outer balcony stretches like a vertice into the vastness of the city, a sea of lights glistening down below. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a labyrinth of hopes and pains and dreams.

You stand there, drawn to the view like a moth to a flame. The evening breeze dances through your hair, and your face is aglow from the illuminated city.

Smiling widely, you turn and find Ewan lingering just behind, watching you.

"Come and look at this, my love," you wave him over.

He wants to capture the moment, so he does. He subtly points his camera in your direction. Your profile is partially visible, with your face turned out into the horizon. Your silhouette stands before a mosaic of the shining city.

But it's you that has his attention. You that pulls all of his focus into the frame.

He never thought he would have much use for a public social media profile like the one he created on Instagram, but hours later, as you're sound asleep beside him, he finds purpose for such a thing.

He uploads the first ever photo on his profile - the one he secretly took of you at the observatory.

Too conscious to think of a caption, he doesn't type in any, content to let the photo speak for itself.

Putting his phone away, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and falls into blissful slumber.

Ewan hadn't been aware of the phrase breaking the internet, and he's in for quite the rude awakening.

Even so, he doesn't let it faze him.

You're in shock when you discover the amount of comments under the photo, well past the twelve thousand mark when you wake up. Positive, negative, and everything in between.

Almost unheard of for an Instagram debut.

His reaction?

"At least everyone knows that you're mine now. What's wrong with that?"

You can vote here on the reader's hotd character name!

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy (continued in comments)

The sad, angsty bits will be saved for the next proper chapter! What happens to Ewan's Instagram then? What happens to him?? 🥲💔

I was going to include the double date idea, but alas, my ideas ran dry.

I've got nothing but love for all of you that have followed this story to this point! If you've got scene requests, just let me know!

[hug-your-face]

Insight today while washing the lettuce and thinking of my friend who doesn't want to vote.

They are an otherwise intelligent, responsible, generous person, who appears to be socially conscious. They have worked hard and long for their position in their profession. They express concern for the planet. They get twitchy if you use too many paper towels.

But they don’t want to vote for Biden for reasons, and quote "doesn't like the whole system where the parties take turns swinging things back and forth" unquote.

I have been dumbstruck at their attitude for about two months now. I've been thrashing back and forth trying to reconcile this person I love with their attitude:

If you care abt the planet enough to conserve paper towels, don’t you care enough to stop a Repub administration from raping the land?

If you don’t like how things can swing back and forth, don't you want an administration that's going to work to shore up, rather than dismantle, more lasting democratic systems of governance?

If you understand the value of the long game, why are you only satisfied with instant results from a single election rather than viewing that election as a single move in an ongoing process?

The insight came to me as I used an extra set of paper towels to dry my lettuce:

These people are not motivated by outcomes. They are motivated by how their choices make them FEEL.

Not how the outcomes of their choices will make them feel. But how the action associated with their choices makes them feel.

In terms of outcomes for the environment, saving paper towels doesn't do shit compared to pushing for restrictions on oil companies. But using half a paper towel is an instant dopamine hit: "Ahhh, I am caring for Mother Earth. I care. I am a good person. Ahh yes that's the stuff."

This model fits for voting too. We know that The Only Votes That Count Are Those Cast. We know that Dems Go Where The Votes Are Not Where The Votes Aren't. We know that voting in every election, every time, in numbers, is a very low-effort way to contribute to moving the Overton window farther left.

But in the moment, for people who are motivated by how their action associated with their choice makes them feel... the absolute best move for their dopamine supply is to abstain: "I am NOT supporting an old fart; I am NOT supporting genocide; I am Challenging The System; I am a good person. Ahh yes, that's the stuff."

At the time, when I challenged my friend on their position, they held up their hands and said "look, I'm not saying I have any answers, I'm just saying I don’t like how the system works."

They didn't like how participating in the system made them FEEL in the moment.

For those of us who think this is madness, hey, we aren't off the hook entirely. We are basing our choices and actions off of outcomes, true. But there's probably a feeling/dopamine component in there too. "I am holding my nose and voting Blue; I am doing my part to actually affect the future even if I hate some things abt my choice; I am a good person. Ahh yes, that's the stuff."

So maybe the difference isn't in the motivation (my feelings and self-image) but in what motivates us (my action vs the outcome of my action).

I don't have an answer to the question at this time and this post is already long enough. But I'll think on it. And I invite you to do so as well:

For these people (who seem to be a sizable part of the population), how to outweigh the choice where their action preserves their self-image, doesn't cost them dopamine for having to take a "bad" action, and maybe even gives them a happy boost for "not being part of a flawed system?"

For these people, how to help them connect more to the outcome?

Off the cuff, I can't think of any means other than cognitive-behavioral therapy. :/

EDIT: Apparently there's a term for this and it's called Emotivism -- ethics isn't abt effects but abt feelings.

[gumiluver]

NO PREP? NAUGHTY GIRL. ~ JJK NSFW SCENARIOS

synopsis: you let him hit it without foreplay ;)

(pls prep!! foreplay is super important!!)

cover pic credit: Aloneexe19 on pinterest

lovers <3: afab!reader, gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro/zen’in toji, ryomen sukuna

PART TWO <3 | EAT ME! ~ GOJO

byr/important: the content written in this fic is not suitable for individuals under the age of 18, minors please do not interact

cw: nsfw, pwp, dacyphilia (satoru, suguru), manhandling (all characters), dark content(-ish) (all characters), pussy slapping (sukuna ofc), light bondage (sukuna)

Satoru 🖤

Loves a good challenge, especially if it deals with him fucking your pretty pussy into oblivion.

Satoru doesn’t really think you’d be able to take him all fully tho. You’re his perfect pillow princess and he’s your knight in shining armor. He’d do anything to please you, and that usually meant lots of foreplay. He loved to see you absolutely drenched, he makes it a personal goal of his to make you soak the bed each time y’all fuck.

So when you come up to him and tell him you wanna spice things up, add a little fun to the mix, he’s a bit taken back. No foreplay?? Is this a punishment??

Your sex lives were never boring, of course, but who doesn’t love a little sexual exploration?

He’s quick to move things into the bedroom, stripping you down to nothing and laying you on your side. He’s got his back to your chest, spooning you gently as he grips your inner thigh and hoists it over his hip—granting him special access to your puffy pussy.

The feel of his washboard abs against your back and his erect cock poking your entrance made you all hot and bothered. Your legs being spread and pinned with his own only furthered that vulnerability, his manhandling making your pussy throb, “let me do it ‘toru,” you whisper shyly, reaching your hand down to line his pretty tip up to your pussy. He smirks, backing his hand away and caressing the curve of your hip. He cups your breast and places gentle kisses across your neck, biting here and there along the way.

You’re struggling to push him inside, his tip too big for your pert hole. You whine a bit, trying to swivel your hips around in hopes that his tip will slip in. He chuckles at your measly attempts, “want some help with that pretty girl?”

Before you can even answer, the hand that was grasping your tits shoots down to grip the base of his cock. Your little hand suddenly losing the grip you had on him as he starts to press his tip into your pretty pussy. You let out a high-pitched moan, already feeling so much resistance with just his tip. Tears welling a bit in your eyes as you look up to Satoru, whose piercing blue eyes are carefully watching your reactions.

But this time, Satoru feels something different—something foreign to him. It makes his tip pulsate ridiculously and his balls tighten to the point of pain, ‘it can’t be…’ he thinks, giving an experimental thrust to push an inch inside you again. You let out another loud moan as a couple tears start to slide down your cheek, eyes closed tightly and brows furrowed.

“H-holy fuck, ahhh,” he groans out. The pornographic sounds erupting from your boyfriend makes your pussy unconsciously clench unbelievably tight, so much so that it might push out the 1/4th of his cock that’s just barely being pushed into you. You’ve never heard him so loud, so animalistic; it makes your head spin with lust and want.

You’re starting to squirm around him, breathing heavily as he continues to sheath his cock inside of you inch by agonizing inch. The pain a bit more pronounced than the pleasure, but you knew that once the pleasure hit, oh…it would hit. He’s peppering kisses along your jaw and licks away the tears that happen to slip past your eyes, he can’t help but feel his dick twitch each time your innocent doe-like eyes look at him, almost begging for him to hurry up and bottom out.

“Such a good fuckin girl,” he grunts out, starting to feel himself lose control over seeing you struggle and cry over taking his dick—makes him feel like a school boy busting a nut for the first time. The tightness of your princess cunt makes his heart skip a beat, subconsciously bucking his hips further and completely bottoming out inside you.

You gasp suddenly, gripping the bedsheets and letting out a languid moan that radiates throughout the house. He sees you try to worm your other hand down to your pussy, wanting to add a bit more pleasure into the mix by rubbing your neglected clit. He chuckles, grabbing your wrist and placing it back to your side. He laces his hand with your own to prevent you from trying any stunts like that again, not wanting to ruin all the fun that the two of you were having, “ah ah ah princess, remember what you said? no foreplay, so don’t even think about touching my pussy,”

Suguru 🖤

Was curious to see if his pretty baby could actually take him all in without his usual foreplay.

Suguru loved to spend hours in between your thighs, playing with your cute cunt — even when you were overstimulated and begging for him to let you have a break. He just couldn’t help himself to your slutty hole—so slick, so pretty.

He was an inquisitive man by nature, always questioning the outcome of his actions and taking leaps of faith to better understand the inner workings of people—especially you. He loves studying your body, your reactions, what you like and what you love, what makes you go crazy and what makes you lose your sanity.

So when you bring up an idea, a “challenge for yourself,” so you say—he’s more than happy to take up your offer. What kind of loving boyfriend would deny his baby what she wanted?

“Remember, tap my leg three times if it gets too much,” Suguru says, gripping onto your thighs. You nod, smiling at him as a way to reassure his mind, “I trust you sugu, s’okay, I wan’ it,”

That was all it took for Suguru to flip like a switch. Sure he treats you like a princess, but he has to be mindful over his constant need to manhandle you. He’s suddenly got you folded up into a mating press, your knees pushed up to your head while he leans dangerously close to your lips, his eyes piercing into yours. “Can’t wait to mark you up with my lips baby,” he says, a hum rumbling from his chest as he closes the gap to give you a brief kiss.

He comes back up to take a breath, and you can’t help but notice the darkness in his eyes—a cloudiness that makes you question if you’re his lover or his prey. A cheshire cat-like smile blesses his sharp face, his gaze begins to travel down towards your empty little hole, ‘so sad,’ he thinks, quick to position himself to line his tip up with your cunny and fill you up to the brim. You whimper at his abrasiveness, your pussy clenching with anticipation.

He starts to push his tip into you, slowly, looking up every so often to gaze upon your angelic face. Those innocent little eyes now closed and scrunched together, tears threatening to spill out as you cover your mouth with your hand to hold in your pathetic whimpers and whines.

Suguru clicks his tongue in disapproval, pinning your wrists above your head and pushing himself in your tight cunt a bit deeper—a simple warning. You knew better to hide those pretty moans from him, but those same moans teetered across the border between moans and screams of pleasure.

“Look at you, all stretched out nice and pretty for me,” he says, a venom-like lustfulness lacing his tone. You couldn’t help the quiver that overwhelmed your pussy from his nasty words, making his cock slip in a bit easier despite the lack of prep. He lets out a long, low groan as he continues to ease in, careful to not push your limits. While he was a freak in the sheets, that didn’t excuse him from employing the basic ground rules of consent.

And if Suguru knew one thing for sure, it was everything and anything dealing with you.

Your whimpers are bouncing off the walls, no longer able to control the projection of your voice. Your body starting to become overwhelmed by the sheer stretch his cock brings to your little pussy. The depth his dick is reaching inside you felt as if he was trying to reach for your soul. A soul for him to consume, for him to claim. You couldn’t control your voice, and now you couldn’t control your body.

And Suguru liked that. In fact, he loved seeing you go absolutely fucking dumb when he bottoms out in you, just so that he can bring you back into reality. The power he holds over your body and the amount of trust you place in him makes his head spin and his heart burn with love. He can’t help but soothe your quivering body to help ground you back to him, “your thighs are shakin’ so much baby, need me to slow down for ya?”

Kento 🖤

Was shocked to hear that you wanted to attempt a feat as big as that, but when he heard your explanation he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with love and his dick ache with anticipation.

Your innocent claims of wanting to alleviate his tension by offering your own body for him to use in any way he wanted was dangerous. His absolute strength has been known to make powerful curses and sorcerers shutter with a simple glance of his, and he always made sure to separate that strength away from you.

That’s not to say he was never tempted to mark up that beautiful body of yours. See the shape of his fingers imprint themselves on your hips. Hearing your pleading cries and whimpers for him to ease up or slow down. Oh yes…a part of him has always yearned to see you lose your sanity when he has his way with you.

“Wanna help you relieve your stress, daddy,” you whispered in his ear, kissing his neck slowly and nibbling at that one spot underneath his jawline, “wan’ you to take your frustration out on me,” you mumbled, voice laced with so much need that it made his knees weak. He groaned, a deep rumble emitting from his chest that made you squeeze your thighs together.

He can feel his rationality slip, his muscles unnaturally flexing as he tries to calm himself down before he looses his composure and does something he will regret. He looks down at you, and you peer up at him. “Fuck,” he thinks, realizing he probably shouldn’t have looked to you for reassurance when you looked so damn delicious and needy. He can’t help himself when he lunges for you and and pins you to the wall. A hand wrapping around your head to grip the base of your hair, making your neck jolt upwards and force you to meet his eyes. His ease with making you so pliable demonstrated his ungodly strength and turned you into nothing but a shaky mess.

“This is a one time thing, understood?” He grunts out, his sanity slipping from him. He always swore to never bring work home, to never use work-stress as as an excuse for misbehavior. But god damn did your offer sound tempting. You sounded tempting. To make matters worse, you mutter out three words that finally make him snap:

“Don’t be gentle,”

He groans and strips you of your clothes like a starved man. The veins in his arms pulsating, his breath turning into pants, his cock absolutely throbbing—pulsating. It felt like his pants were about to rip from how hard his fucking cock felt.

He moves his hand towards your cute pussy and starts to play with your clit, kissing you feverishly and sucking your tongue into his mouth as he tries to prep you. Your quick to react, pushing his hands away and moaning into the kiss, “just put it in k-kento, wanna feel aah—all of you,” you say during the kiss, moaning into his mouth sweetly. You can’t help but want for him to stretch that thick cock of his inside your lil cunny.

He’s quick to turn you around, face and chest now pressed against the wall while your ass juts out for him to admire. He’s biting his lip, groping your ass and pressing his cock against your folds.

But he doesn’t press his tip in yet. Oh no, he wants to watch you push yourself back into his cock. After all, you insisted on foregoing his usual time spent in between your legs, licking and suckling onto your pretty little cunt.

Quickly taking the hint, you start to back your pussy up onto his cock. The burning stretch from taking his tip already making you gasp and shake. It felt like he was splitting you open, ‘maybe I should’ve let him prep me after all’ you think, gaslighting yourself into fearing the worst. He gives a soft chuckle at your poor attempt to take him in and couldn’t help but tease you a bit, “you can fit more than that now can’t you, darling?”

Toji 🖤

Thinks it’s funny that you want to take all of him in without any prep. You? His pretty pillow princess?

No matter how many times he fucks you, he still needs to spend hours between your thighs to ensure that you are absolutely soaked with your arousal.

Despite his efforts, you always manage to struggle taking his cock in one fell swoop. Whining and whimpering about how “it’s too big” or “you’re too deep,” and Toji would be lying if he said it didn’t stroke his ego.

He almost says no — almost, until you started mouthing off to him. He just had to put his brat back in place, maybe teach you a lesson or two.

“So desperate for it aren’t ya? Well, if ya want it so bad then ya better start takin’ it.” You shifted on his lap, hovering above his cock to line yourself up with his tip. Toji spreads his body out, completely overtaking the couch the two of you were currently on. He rests his head on his hand, an act to reinforce his big ego by having absolutely no intent on assisting you on your journey to wreck your pussy. After all, Toji was never one to reward bratty behavior.

“Come on now, take all of my cock baby. What happened to that attitude? Huh? Already too fucked out from tryna’ take my dick, huh baby? Yeaaaah, that’s right baby, go on n’ sink down on my cock,” he taunted, his eyes wild with amusement and lust as his hands gripped your ass and waist firmly. It felt like you were choking—the stretch so overwhelming that it literally took your breath away.

He noticed your shallow breathing and swiftly moves a hand from your waist to grip your chin — snapping your attention back to him and how good he was making you feel.

“Breathe,” he commands, and you’re suddenly grounded back to reality as your lungs fill with much needed air. Your walls relax a bit more, giving Toji the opportunity to bottom out inside you fully by pushing your hips down.

You belt out a moan Toji has never heard the likes of. He feels his balls tighten as he watches this absolute goddess above him become completely destroyed by his massive cock. He puffs his chest out and let’s out a loud groan, followed by a low growl,” good girl…now get to work,”

Sukuna 🖤

Has always like the idea of ravishing your pussy with one thrust of his cock, and thought that it would be the perfect punishment to give out to you the next time you forget your place.

And god damn it did he want to put you in your place right fucking now. The way your smirking up at him, raising your brow and folding your arms across your chest. That big ass ego of yours starting to make you feel on top of the world, seeing as you’ve made the king of curses become a pussy whipped simp who would literally set the world on fire for you.

You knew he would never do anything to actually hurt you, but that didn’t mean he abstained from all of his sadistic ways; and you, being a masochist, loved to set him off.

You shudder with anticipation, a devilish smile appearing on Sukuna’s face as he hovers over your trembling form. He has your wrists tied above your head as his massive thighs spread your own thick ones apart. A light sheen of sweat covers your skin that creates an aura around you—resembling a light of protection that coaxes Sukuna to corrupt it, to do his worst. His cock already hard from gazing upon your naked form, so docile and helpless.

God it makes his cock fucking ache.

“You did this to me, now you’re gonna fix it,” he grunts out, stroking his thick cock in front of you to add emphasis to the problem that you caused. You whimpered, more than ready to take whatever cruel punishment he has intended for you.

Your plush pussy clenched aimlessly, begging to be stuffed by your king. You’re squirming around helplessly as you watch him pump his cock, drool starting to pool in your mouth, “pleaseeee ‘kuna, hurry uuuup,” you whine, shifting your hips upwards as if to beckon his cock to you. Your tantalizing hips and bratty attitude continuing to stir the fire within Sukuna.

He scowls at you menacingly, smacking your thigh, covertly showing his disapproval of your behavior, “you’ll take what I give you, when I give it to you, ” giving your pussy a light spank before he brushes his tip against your folds. A single swipe only, just to rile you up a bit more.

You’re huffing and squirming even more now, starting to feel antsy over the lack of stimulation Sukuna was giving you. He usually gives you so much pleasure all in one go that it becomes too much, so this lack of touch and stimulation makes your heart skip a beat—not from excitement either, but out of fear.

As you’re getting lost in your thoughts, you’re quick to miss Sukuna line himself up towards your tiny pussy, slamming himself into you with one. sharp. thrust.

“Thaaaaat’s it slut, take this dick, fuuuuuck,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way your tight lil cunny squeezes his fat cock and how your usual angelic voice has morphed into a whorish scream. He’s pushed himself so far into you that you feel yourself inadvertently creaming around him. The sudden onslaught of his cock piercing into your cunt shocked the pleasure system of your brain and sent you overboard, coaxing you quickly to the brink of an orgasm.

But this time, Sukuna meant business. He’s let you get away with this attitude for far too long; to reward you would just reinforce that bad behavior. As quick as he is to thrust himself fully into you, he’s just as quick to pull his cock out; and before you can even complain about it, Sukuna’s hand expertly moves to cover your mouth. He’s glaring at you, an ominous smirk plastered on his face as he scolds you, “you better not cum until I tell you to, I don’t care how good it feels you better hold that shit in, understand?”

A/N: Thanks for reading! This is my first time posting for the jjk fandom—what did y’all think? Do I hear a part twoooo? 🤔😳

Likes, comments, follows, reblogs, and any other form of interaction is greatly appreciated <3 #supportcreators

[finelinevogue]

Heyyy! I adore your writing, it's so soft and ahhh just obsessed, I can never get enough! Could I request something with shy!reader (maybe non-bau) and Emily where they had a meet cute and are maybe on their first date? xx

meet cute

OMG AN EMILY REQUEST YEASSS!! hopefully this is sort of what you wanted…?!? 💛💛

pairing - emily prentiss x reader

word count - 2.1k

Why did no one talk about the horrendous anxiety that came with first dates?

Your heart felt like it was beating so hard that it might as well be trying to escape your chest and the rest of your body was so shaky.

Normally when you were anxious you could never really pinpoint why, but this was different. The root of your anxiety was so easy to pinpoint and it was because you were going on a date with the prettiest girl you had ever seen.

Emily Prentiss had come into your life like a page out of a meet-cute novel.

She had mistakenly taken your coffee order for hers, even though it said your name on the side of the cup not hers. As shy as you were, you had not been ready to give up your morning coffee. Turns out confronting someone for taking your coffee can lead to exchanging phone numbers. Then phone numbers can lead to arranging a date.

And that date was today.

<.><.><.>

“Why are you in such a rush?” Morgan asked as he watched Emily clear her desk and pack her bag.

Normally Emily was here well past everyone else. Well… Maybe not Hotch, but definitely later than anyone else on the team.

Tonight was different though.

It was already 5PM and she was stressing that she hadn’t left herself enough time to get ready.

“There’s somewhere I need to be.” Emily answered.

Morgan chuckled because he should have anticipated a cryptic answer from his partner.

“Oh yeah? Where?” Morgan crossed his arms.

Spencer popped up from his desk, “I think I know.”

“Go on then pretty boy.” Morgan said.

“Emily rarely leaves work before 7PM, except today she’s been watching the clock countdown the seconds until she can legally leave work at 5PM. That tells us she has somewhere really important to be. Considering there’s no immediate family involved and we haven’t been invited I would suggest that Emily has a date.”

Emily scoffed, both annoyed and impressed that Spencer had managed to deduce all of that.

“Combine that current look she’s giving us with your theory Reid, I’d say you were right.” Morgan smiled and leaned forwards in his chair. “So…?”

Emily raised her eyebrows at Morgan, silently challenging him.

She didn’t deny anything though. Mainly because she knew she had been caught and there was absolutely no point in lying to a duo of profilers. However, that didn’t mean she needed to divulge in the details of her night.

“You two need to get a life and stop spying in on mine.” Emily said.

“You know that’s not gonna happen.” Morgan argued back, Spencer giving an understanding nod of agreement.

“Worth a shot.” Emily shrugged and left it at that. Not only was she eager to get away from this conversation, but she was also really determined to not screw this date up and so that meant leaving now.

“Details tomorrow, Prentiss.” Morgan shouted as Emily left the room.

<.><.><.>

The nerves had gotten ten times worse.

You had felt confident leaving the house, but now you felt somehow both underdressed and overdressed. You felt like you weren’t really meant to be meeting up with Emily this evening, like this wasn’t something that happened to you.

Maybe you’d made a mistake? Maybe this had all been a dream? Or maybe she thought she had been messaging someone else this whole time?

At least you were meeting in a neutral location, so if anything did go wrong then you could both leave and return to your own homes.

You let your shaky hands reach for your phone to check your messages again.

1 hour ago - From Emily Prentiss:

Looking forward to seeing you tonight : )

30 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

Me too xx

25 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

I am at the restaurant now xx

10 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

It was ‘The Olive Bistro’ that we were meeting at right? x

2 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

Just checking you’re okay?

Then your phone started vibrating and you could see that Emily was calling you.

You took a deep breath before answering.

“It’s okay!” You blurted out before she could say anything.

“Y/N?” Emily answered, her breathing sounding laboured.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Sorry, it just sounded like you said ‘It’s okay’.”

“No - I-I mean yes. Yes, sorry, it is okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“I’m assuming you’re calling to cancel?” You questioned.

“Not at all. Why would— Will you please stop walking so slow!”

Who was she yelling at?

“Sorry?”

“Y/N, I swear… Wait, have you been standing outside the restaurant this entire time?”

Emily’s question made you stand alert. Surely the only way she would know that is if she could see you right now.

“How do you…” You said, before being cut off by watching Emily walk really fast paced down the street towards you.

Emily must have hung up the phone so you did too, putting it into your coat pocket. Your attention was solely on her now and you didn’t want any distractions.

And gosh was she beautiful.

Emily was wearing dark boot-cut jeans, a high-neck black jumper and black boots. Her hair was styled perfectly around her face and her makeup looked the same as it had the other day.

You suddenly felt very okay about what you’d chosen to wear; similar jeans, also boots but a white shirt instead.

Your hands got more and more shaky as she approached.

“I’m so sorry.” She said as she stood a few feet in front of you. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m okay.” You gave her a nervous smile.

“I swear I’m not normally like this. I even left work early to avoid being late, but Sergio would not let me leave and then the car park… What?” Emily smiled when she saw the look you were giving her.

You shrugged your shoulders, “You still came here, even after a long day at work plus cat troubles?”

“Yes. Of course.” Emily looked wounded that you’d ever consider anything else.

“That’s kind of… romantic.”

Emily stepped closer to you and held out her hand for you to take. Your hand stopped shaking as soon as you held hers. She grounded you and reminded you that you were completely safe with her.

“No, it’s just basic human etiquette.”

“Not to me.” There was a hint of sadness to your tone, which Emily quickly picked up on and wiped away with the softest kiss to your cheek.

“Shall we?”

<.><.><.>

You hadn’t laughed like this in ages. The kind of laughing that left your belly stitch and your jaw ache. The kind of laughing that came from getting along with someone really well, which was interesting considering you’d only known Emily for a couple of weeks.

Dinner had gone really well.

You remembered to go for something that wouldn’t slop everywhere and drink something you knew was safe. Pesto pasta and a limoncello spritz. You had unintentionally impressed Emily with your choices too, which you were counting as a small win.

“Well I’m glad he’s okay.” You laughed.

“Him? Honey, it was me who was under attack.” Emily feigned shock.

“Yes, but he’s a cat. He doesn’t know any better.”

“Wow. Cannot believe you’re taking Sergio’s side over mine.”

You would have fallen for her pouty lips and her sad face if it wasn’t for her hand that held yours across the table. She had reached for your hand after dinner and hadn’t let go since.

It was really nice.

That sounds silly to say that holding a pretty woman’s hand was ‘nice’, but that was the truth. This was new to you and so you were taking everything in moment by moment.

“I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?” You asked.

“Oh I don’t know.”

“How about…”

“A kiss? You’re so right.” Emily jumped in before you could.

You blushed. She made you so nervous it was ridiculous. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Emily squeezed your hand.

“Okay.” You said, unsure.

You looked around the busy restaurant and thought about how uncomfortable this room would make you as you tried to have your first kiss.

Emily must have noticed though, because she squeezed your hand again to direct your attention back to her.

“I’m not kissing you here.”

“No?”

“No. It’s not the end of the night yet.” She smiled and your whole body relaxed. You actually felt your body return to the moment with Emily, knowing you could peacefully admire her under the warm restaurant glow for a little longer.

<.><.><.>

The end of the night came quickly.

You stood at your front door and Emily was there with you. She insisted that she came home with you, knowing exactly what kind of creeps are out there late at night.

The night had been so perfect and you could feel yourself becoming slowlh more comfortable with her. She laughed at your jokes, which told you you weren’t making a fool of yourself, and she listened to everything you had to say, which made you feel important. Emily had made you feel special all night.

“I had a good time tonight.” You said, picking out your keys from your coat pocket.

“Me too.” Emily smiled.

“Are we going to see each other again?”

“I hope so. If it wasn’t clear from sharing a lemon dessert with you when I actually hate lemons, then I really like you and I’d love to go on a date with you again.”

“Emily…” You pouted sadly.

“What? Are you upset about the dessert?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed.

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not, because now when I kiss you all I’m going to think about is how I probably still taste of lemons and you’re going to hate every moment of it.” You frowned.

If you didn’t get your kiss off Emily then it wasn’t literally the end of the world, but it sure would feel like it.

“I don’t mind.”

“But…”

“Y/N, love, I don’t mind.” Emily cut you off firmly. “Okay?”

She took a step towards you, closing the distance, and cupped a hand over your cheek. She hesitantly guided your lips towards hers, ghosting over them to give you the chance to pull away if you wanted.

You closed your eyes as she got close and allowed your other senses to take over.

When Emily kissed you it felt weird.

You’d heard so often you would feel butterflies or fireworks, but in reality it wasn’t anything like that. It just felt natural, like you’d been doing this forever.

You felt right together.

She tasted of lemons so no doubt you did too, but that didn’t stop either of you from kissing each other. She felt so warm against you and you moaned a little in delight at the feeling.

When she pulled away you whined - like, actually whined - from the loss of contact. You watched Emily laugh as you opened your eyes again.

“We have time.” She said softly.

“Yeah, but… we have time now.” You said, trying to initiate another kiss.

“Where’s Little Miss Shy gone from earlier, huh?” She teased.

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re impatient.”

“This is unfair.”

“But it’s the end of the night.”

“Does it have to be?” You whined, probably sounding a lot more desperate than you were hearing.

“Yes,” Emily laughed, pinching your cheek, “C’mon.”

Emily walked you right in front of your door and motioned for you to open it with your key.

You had this intrusive thought that you could just kidnap her and keep her inside your house all night, just to spend more time with her but even that seemed a bit far-fetched.

Right?

You opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Emily standing on your doorstep.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” You said.

The way you were acting all clingy would no doubt cause you to have an anxiety attack as soon as you shut the door, because you had only been on one date and were already acting like you loved her.

No doubt it wouldn’t be hard or long before you did love her, but after one date seemed a little unreasonable.

Emily might even be thinking that you were coming on a bit too strong and this could be it…

“For today.”

“So unfair.” You muttered to yourself.

“Y/N.” Emily said, causing you to look at her seriously.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for tonight.”

“Of course. I enjoyed spending time with you. Just don’t make me wait too long before the next one.”

[my-my-my]

Hi! I love your stories!!

Can i request a fic with Aizen and female s/o being together the last night before Aizen betrays everyone? It can be sfw or nsfw, whatever you like

Ahhh thank you for your kind words!!

Your request got me thinking about when it should take place, because his betrayal is technically in parts! When Aizen fakes his death? Or when he reveals himself after stabbing Momo? Decisions, decisions… either way, it was a fun thought exercise.

I wanted to challenge myself, so I (personally) think this is a bit different than how I usually write.

Summary: Grief can be haunting, and without closure, the mind wanders. For you, the bereaved wife of Captain Aizen Sosuke, you are left with more questions than answers. Unable to talk or ask questions about what has been happening, you turn to poetry. Like your husband once said, you always had a way with words.

TW: MDNI! Smut, angst. Use of poetry (specifically waka and renga). Use of pet names. Oral sex, female receiving.

Word count: 1953

Grief weighed heavily on your heart these past few days. You stood outside the imposing, heavily guarded walls of the Gotei 13, wandering around the perimeter aimlessly.

It had only been a few days since a soldier came to your house to tell you the passing of your husband, Captain Aizen Sosuke.

Passing – no murdered.

But you were left with more questions than answers. The death of a captain should be shocking, news breaking even. Yet they were concerned about some kind of invasion. You weren’t given anything, no piece of him, to keep for yourself, as they were still investigating what had happen.

Your grief bubbled in you like a fountain since then. From a simple task of preparing yourself tea, to interacting with neighbours, tears would run freely.

You tightened the scarf around you, his scarf. His scent still lingered on it. It provided you with some comfort.

You continued your walk around the barrier, wondering what was happening on the inside. You didn’t even know who to reach out to about his body. His lieutenant, you were told, should have provided you with more details, but you haven’t heard from her at all.

The trees swayed slightly through the breeze, as the sun set over the horizon. You didn’t even realize the time; how long have you been wandering?

You were used to a quiet, empty home, but there was always the surprise of your husband visiting you for dinner, or him staying home for a few days. Now the silence was deafening.

His calligraphy desk was clean. You sat down, pulling drawers of old poems, some of which he composed, but majority were of yours, but it was still a fraction of what you had written. He had kept the rest in his personal room and office within the Squad 5 barracks. Your words gave him solace he once said.

You stared at the wall, wondering, thinking, grieving. When was the last time you spoke to someone? You exchanged pleasantries yesterday with your neighbours, but nothing more beyond that. There was so much to say, so much to ask, so much to cry about and you couldn’t.

You felt odd and out-of-place in this blurring world.

You pulled a clean sheet of paper and slowly began to pour liquid ink into your ink well. The white sheet of paper stared at you hauntingly as you thought of moments of catching Sosuke writing. You loved his calligraphy. You loved watching him practice. You loved the smile he had once he was satisfied with a piece…

You loved him.

Tears stained the sheet of paper, shaking you out of your nostalgic haze. Sighing to yourself, you dipped your pen into the ink well, satisfied with the amount of ink on it and began to write

The sound of rain on the leaves can be heard. Still more fragile is the dew of tears on my sleeves even in springtime. Waiting, the pine tree never withers in winter. If I could use words, Like scattering flowers and falling leaves, What a bonfire my poems would make.

“You always had a way with words.” A deep, baritone voice echoed behind you. You quickly turned around to see your husband, in his uniform, tousled hair and glasses in place.

“Sosuke!” You shrieked. Panic and dread crept up your body. Was this a dream? A haunting nightmare? But before you could say or do more, his large, warm hands cupped your face.

Your body tensed at the feeling, unsure to succumb to his familiar touch, or to resist and face your grief head on. You grabbed Sosuke’s wrists, shocking yourself at how sturdy his hands were. This was real.

“You must be confused, my love.” Sosuke whispered, his lips brushing over your forehead.

“They told me you were murdered!” You cried, succumbing to his embrace. He held you close as you sobbed into his chest. You gripped his haori tightly, knuckles turning white. Were you angry with him? Or still trying to decide if he was real? Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself away, “Sosuke, what’s going on?” 

He had a solemn expression, his eyes looked distant as he stared down on you. You knew him. The gentleness, humble persona he wore outside of the home was just for show. The cold, stern attitude is what you missed in your home.

But you also knew he tried to keep you away from his work in Seireitei. You heard from others what he was like, calm, generous, kind… words that amused you, but you took in stride. So to bait him into sharing, you did what you knew best, indulge him with a renga poem

“How forlorn a way to live – The mountains where I gather brush.”

You stared into his eyes, and saw a flash of mirth in them, but then his solemn expression remained. He cupped your face in his hands, brushing his lips against yours, but pulled away. He continued the end of poem

“‘Yet there may be hope,’” I thought, but this way of life Has come to an end.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” You asked, shoulder slumping.

“Yes.”

“Where are you going? Why can’t I come with you?!” You demanded. The flash of fury in your eyes amused Sosuke, but it wouldn’t sway him.

“For your safety, the less you know the better.”

“Then why are you even here!?” You shouted, “maybe it was better for me to think  you were dead.”

A pang of hurt rang through Sosuke as your anger filled the space between you. As quick as you were with your words and poetry, anger was also something came just as fast. You took a step back from him, trying to collect yourself.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you.” Sosuke murmured, taking off his glasses. His eyes were sharp as he inspected you. “I wanted to see you one last time.”

“I really thought you were dead, you know?” You sighed, closing the gap between you two once again. You reached up to kiss him, as his arms instinctively wrapped themselves around your lower body.

Soft kisses bloomed into passionate ones, as Sosuke nipped his way down your neck, nimble fingers pulling and tugging away at your clothes. “Sosuke, we have a bedroom for this.” You laughed, as he carried you to your bedroom.

He laid you on the futon, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to sear your body into his memory. You reached out and cupped his cheek, “you can do more than look, Sosuke” you teased, spreading your legs apart for him.

Sosuke smirked at you as he slipped his haori off his body, then removed his uniform. You felt hunger in his touches, rough kisses, fervor in his movements as he suckled and played with your breasts and nipples. Your moans and pants encouraged him as kissed and nipped further along your body. Savouring the taste of your skin and the sounds of your cries as his name echoed off your lips.

He lifted his head up, just before he reached your dripping pussy.

“Ah, the misery of it, Whiter now shall I turn?”

But you were too consumed by pleasure to play with his words. Sosuke lapped at your clit while using his fingers to spread your pussy, pushing one finger inside your hole. Your hand found itself entangled in his hair as you tried to push him closer to your pussy. But you could only cry and whine his name as you felt two of his fingers curl inside you.

Your vision began to blur again, but this time of stars and colours as your orgasm crept closer. You felt Sosuke tongue swipe down your slit, and then a harsh suck on your clit when you screamed his name. He pulled himself away from you, smirking down at your quivering body. You were panting, covered in a slick of sweat, with your legs shaking.

Sosuke spread your legs further as he pushed himself inside you. You felt the familiar stretch of his cock as he sighed your name. There was no movement, only the sounds of kissing and your names echoing within the room.

But it wasn’t enough for you. “Please, Sosuke,” you whined, trying to move your body against him.

“Please what?” Sosuke teased, as he gripped your hips from moving.

“I want you to fuck me, Sosuke.” You whispered, tightening your pussy. Sosuke muttered your name under his breath as his eyebrows furrowed.

And Sosuke would always indulge you, no matter how much teasing he did. His pace picked up as his hips began to slam into your body. Wanton moans escaping your lips as he angled your legs above his shoulders. He was deep inside you, his cock hitting spots inside you that your fingers and no other man could ever touch.

Sosuke knew you too well. As he dropped your legs, he rubbed your clit as his mouth found your nipple. You shrieked and bucked your hips at the onslaught of pleasure rushing through your body. But Sosuke lifted his head, groaning your name into a kiss as you felt his warm cum fill you.

His shoulders were slumped as he pulled himself out. You whined at the loss, but never one to leave you out, Sosuke pushed his leaking cum back inside your pussy with his fingers, pumping you as his thumb ran circles against your overly sensitive clit. It didn’t take long for you to thrash against the futon, chanting his name as his kissed your forehead, murmuring how good you were to him.

You closed your eyes as he pulled you towards his body. What time was it? You mused, as Sosuke warm body enveloped yours. The sound of his heartbeat, his voice calling your name, and his fingers brushing your hair, began to put you to sleep.

Your eyes felt heavy as you struggled to stay awake. You murmured into his chest,

“Parting after bliss, Resolved to was as long As life is left me.”

Before falling asleep. Sosuke looked down at you as he tucked you in. He gathered his scattered clothes, putting them on as he fixed his glasses and hair. His heart felt strange, almost heavy in his chest as he took one last look at you.

He picked up his black cloak, wearing it over his uniform, sealing his reiatsu from everyone, including you. The night sky was empty save for a stars – the moon hidden away. Sosuke maneuvered his way back to the walls of Sereitei, weaving through the throngs of Shinigami looking for the invading humans.

He unlocked the gates of Central 46 and descended the blood covered steps, the rotting bodies of its members still in their place as he traveled further down. Your words echoed through his mind, you always knew what to say to leave him speechless.

As he descended into the Great Hall, he looked up to the sight of the corpses again. He smiled, but not at the sight above him. His eyes softened thinking of your sleeping form,

“Still it lasts – what does it mean? This longing I feel for her.”

Thank you for sending in this request, I hope you enjoyed it!!

The first poem Reader writes is from Shogun Ep 8, recited by Lady Mariko.

The type of poem Reader and Aizen exchange in, is called renga, which is usually done between 2-3 people. The one I used in this request is from Three Poets of Minase which was written in 1488!! I think Aizen is the type of guy to participate in this kind of poetry (since he was a calligrapher, was well-read and had a popular column in the Seireitei Bulletin).

I had a couple of songs I was listening to set the mood/inspired me to write it this particular way:

HEALTH - GOD BOTHERER

Shit Robot feat. Nancy Whang - Take 'Em Up (Marcus Marr Remix)

Hidden Face - White Carousel

Jo Yeong-wook - 기도하는 금자

Thanks again for sending in this request and for reading!

[thewulf]

Breaking Point || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I've got this itch for some hurt/comfort with Simon Ghost Riley and the reader from TF 141. Reader's this badass sniper, always on top of her game. But one day she wakes up feeling under the weather. She decides to push through training, but things take a turn when she starts feeling faint during drills after Price gives her shit for not training hard... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh this was challenging but so much fun to right. Please let me know your thoughts below :) Got a little carried away with this one!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 7.7k +

TW: Heat Stroke, Flu, Illness, general COD warnings.

Four years ago, you were a part of a special training assignment with the American Navy, deployed in a remote and sweltering military base off the coast of Africa. It was here in the middle of the grueling drills and relentless heat that you caught the eye of Captain John Price. Your prowess with a rifle was unmistakable. Every target set before you fell without fail. But what truly set you apart was your demeanor: you kept your head down, focused intensely on the task at hand, never boasting about your undeniable skills.

Captain Price who was always on the lookout for exceptional talent to add to Task Force 141, saw in you a rare combination of humility and sharpshooting expertise. Recognizing your potential he pulled some strings, navigated through the complexities of the American Military bureaucracy, and somehow successfully recruited you into the prestigious ranks of TF 141. This marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. One that would challenge your resilience and skill more than any previous assignment.

Joining TF 141 wasn't just a promotion. It was being welcomed into a family of elite soldiers. While Soap and Gaz took an immediate liking to you, appreciating your wit and marksmanship, Ghost was initially more reserved. His trust was not easily won. It had to be earned on the battlefield not just through training exercises back at base.

Your defining moment came during a perilous mission in the frozen expanses of Russia within your first year with the 141. The mission had quickly gone sideways. Ghost found himself in the deadly crosshairs of an enemy sniper. With the situation deteriorating rapidly and no clear shot available to him your actions in those critical seconds would forever change the dynamics of your relationship with Ghost. From a concealed position you took out the opposing sniper with a single, precise shot, saving Ghost’s life.

This act erased any last reservations Ghost might have held. From then on he saw you not just as another sharpshooter but as an indispensable member of the team, his team. Your ability to make life-saving decisions under intense pressure proved your strength. Not just in terms of physical prowess but in intellectual and tactical acumen as well.

Since then you have become an integral part of TF 141's operations. Your journey from a promising recruit noticed by Captain Price to a pivotal player in some of the team’s most critical missions has been defined by relentless dedication and the deep trust you've earned from some of the military's toughest warriors.

The shrill beep of the alarm slices through the stillness of your room dragging you from the shallow waters of restless sleep into the harsh reality of dawn. For a moment as you blink against the dim light filtering through the barracks' curtains, the room spins slightly—a disorienting dance that forces you to close your eyes again.

You’ve always been the type who never gets sick. The one who breezes through the cold season unscathed while others succumb around you. Your robust health has been a point of pride, a badge of reliability in TF 141. But this morning something is different, and you know it immediately.

Your body aches profoundly, each muscle groaning with a weariness that feels bone-deep, and your head pounds with the relentless rhythm of a dull, throbbing drum. Swallowing feels like dragging sandpaper down your throat. An unfortunate wave of nausea rolls through you as you sit up. It has to be the flu, you think grimly, recognizing the unmistakable and unforgiving symptoms.

Despite the clear signs of illness, the thought of calling in sick doesn’t even cross your mind. It’s not just about pride. There’s also a deep-seated belief that you can handle anything, a belief that has carried you through countless challenges.

With a heavy, determined sigh, you push yourself off the bed. Standing unsteadily for a moment, you use the wall to keep yourself upright. Today is not the day to show weakness, not the day to break your perfect record of health. You decide to power through. To dress and join your team for the morning drills under the rising sun. The thought of letting them down by your absence is more daunting than the physical discomfort threatening to overwhelm you.As you gear up, each movement measured and more deliberate than usual, you steel yourself for the day ahead. Today, you'll prove—not just to your team, but to yourself—that not even the flu can keep you from standing alongside your comrades.

Stepping out into the cool, pre-dawn air, you allow yourself a moment to feel the chill against your fevered skin. It’s oddly refreshing, a natural contrast to the unnatural heat of your illness. It’s bound to be short lived though as the sun’s rays already feel warm on your skin. The training field is a short walk away and with each step you rehearse the day’s routine in your mind. A mantra against the physical discomfort.

As the briefing wraps up and the team begins to disperse to their respective training stations you feel the weight of Ghost’s gaze right on you. Despite the heaviness of your limbs and the fog in your brain, this unspoken solidarity from your teammates, especially Ghost, gives you a sliver of strength.

With each step towards the day’s first drill your resolve hardens. You're not just fighting the flu; you're fighting to maintain the trust and respect you’ve earned. Today, the battlefield is here, within yourself, and you're determined to prove your mettle. You are keenly aware of being one of the few women in the unit and the additional scrutiny that comes with it. It's crucial that you show no weakness even as your body wages its quiet rebellion. Your head pounds with a relentless ache. Your limbs are heavy. And every breath feels like an effort. Despite these symptoms screaming flu, you've chosen silence—no complaints, no excuses.

When you arrive at the training field the usual bustle of activity sharply contrasts with your internal struggle. Everyone is focused on what needs to be done, their attention solely on performance. As Captain Price begins the morning briefing his voice sounds like a distant echo in your ears drowned out by the pounding in your head. The day's challenges loom large, testing your limits before you've even started.

As you make your way to the lineup, the crisp morning air begins to turn warm, almost uncomfortable warm already. Soap falls into step beside you, his familiar grin lighting up his face as he launches into the light-hearted banter that typically marks your mornings together.

“Morning! Ready to outshoot us all again today?” Soap teases before giving you a gentle nudge with his elbow, expecting your usual lively retort.

You manage only a weak smile, one that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and nod faintly. The flu has buried your usual quick wit under a heavy weight of fatigue and discomfort. It takes all your effort just to keep standing without revealing how much you're struggling.

Soap’s smile quickly falters at your lack of reply, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You okay, lass?” he asks. His tone shifting to something more serious.

You nod again, swallowing hard against the surge of nausea. “Yeah, just tired,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're careful not to reveal the full extent of your ailment, not here, not in front of your team.

From a short distance away Ghost's intense gaze follows the exchange. Though his presence is more subdued, and his demeanor reserved, his attention to detail remains sharp. You can feel his concern even without words. His posture is alert, his body tensed as if ready to act at a moment's notice.

Ghost offers no overt gestures of worry; he doesn't need to. The slight tightening of his stance is a silent signal of his readiness to intervene. His eyes, just visible through the slits of his mask, never wander, tracking your every move with a vigilance that speaks volumes. You know he's always watching out for his team, and today, his protective focus is unmistakably fixed on you.

"Alright, let's warm up! Start with sprints!" Captain Price commands. His voice cuts through the morning air, decisive and clear. You line up with your teammates, the grass cool and slightly damp under your boots. The whistle pierces the calm, and you propel yourself forward. Each step is a battle, your muscles protesting every movement. Yet you push through the fatigue and dizziness.

After sprints the drills shift to push-ups. Down on the warm, wet grass you feel the earth against your palms, stabilizing yet unforgiving. You count each repetition, your muscles burning and a thin layer of sweat forming, which only seems to heighten the chills that intermittently rack your body.

Sit-ups come next and with each crunch a wave of nausea threatens your composure. The world tilts slightly with each lift, blurring at the edges. Captain Price’s footsteps approach. His presence looming. "Let’s see that strength, Y/N! Don’t slack now!" he urges. The encouragement is meant to inspire but it feels like a heavy mantle on your already burdened shoulders.

“Yes sir.” You manage to get out between crunches.

As you struggle through each exercise you can't ignore the hot flashes followed by chills, the hallmark of flu symptoms. Each movement is more taxing than the last and the temptation to give in and rest grows stronger. However, your determination doesn't waver. You are here to prove yourself, to demonstrate that neither flu nor fatigue can break your resolve. You need to showcase the unwavering strength of not just a skilled sniper, but a resilient soldier.

As the whistle blows, Captain Price directs everyone to break into their respective teams for more specialized, team-based drills. You find yourself grouped with Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. Your usual teammates and three of the unit's most competent operatives. Your heart sinks a bit. Their proficiency and teamwork are unmatched and under normal circumstances you would feel invigorated by the challenge. Today, however, it feels like an uphill battle.

"Alright, team," Gaz announces with a nod, "we’re up for the relay sprints and tactical positioning exercises. We need to be sharp and synchronized. Let's show these assholes how it's done."

You nod silently, attempting to muster a semblance of enthusiasm. Soap claps you on the shoulder giving you a reassuring smile, likely mistaking your subdued quietness for focused determination rather than the fatigue that’s slowly overtaking you.

The drills begin with relay sprints. You watch as Soap takes off with his usual speed. His figure swiftly cutting through the warming afternoon air. Gaz follows, moving with practiced ease. Then it’s your turn. As you push off your legs feel as though they are wading through molasses, your usually sharp agility significantly dulled by the flu’s tenacious grip. Each step feels heavier than the last as your breathing becomes ragged and unsteady.

Compounding your discomfort, the gear you're clad in feels unbearably hot against your skin. The layers that are usually a second nature in your fieldwork now seem like a furnace, trapping in every ounce of body heat. Your temperature rises not just from the fever, but also from the exhaustive exertion and the insulated heat from your tactical vest. Sweat beads on your forehead, not entirely from the physical activity but also from the early signs of heat exhaustion—your body’s desperate attempt to cool down under the layers.

Despite feeling increasingly overheated and nearly overwhelmed, you hide your discomfort well. Your face remains stoic, betraying none of the battle raging within your body against the heat and illness. To an outsider you might just appear intensely focused. But beneath the surface you're fighting a much tougher battle, trying to keep pace while your body screams for relief.

Ghost, from his vantage point, watches closely. His sharp eyes catch the subtle signs that others might miss—the slight falter in your step, the way you're breathing a little too hard after your sprint. His gaze intensifies with concern etched across his face as he monitors your every move, aware that something isn’t right but waiting for you to signal if you need assistance.

When you pass the baton to Ghost your hand trembles slightly. He catches it and for a brief moment your eyes meet. There's a flash of concern across his usually impassive face, a subtle shift that speaks volumes. He nods at you before taking off, his movements fluid and precise, yet his mind clearly not fully on the drill. His glance back at you is quick, discreet, checking to ensure you’re still on your feet.

As the exercises continue with the tactical positioning drills, the demands increase. This part of the training requires quick movements and even quicker thinking as each team member needs to cover different angles and work together seamlessly. You position yourself to cover Ghost’s flank, aiming to maintain your usual high standards. However, the world begins to tilt alarmingly. Your vision swims and the ground beneath you feels as if it’s shifting forcing you to steady yourself against a nearby tree.

Ghost, now at a slight distance, turns sharply in response to your stagger. His eyes narrow, not with disapproval, but with intensified concern. He makes a subtle move to close the distance between you, his instincts as a protector kicking in. Yet, he stops himself, respecting your pride and your ability to signal if you need help. He positions himself strategically, so he’s close enough to intervene quickly if needed. His body tensed and ready to act.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gaz’s voice suddenly cuts through your fog of discomfort, and you realize you’ve attracted more attention than you intended.

You straighten up quickly, nodding more sharply than necessary. “Just lost my footing for a second,” you lie. Managing a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Ghost, who has now subtly shifted his position to provide you with both physical and moral support, keeps his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer. He doesn’t call you out on your obvious discomfort. Instead, he gives you a nod, an unspoken communication between you two. It’s his way of saying he’s there, just in case, without putting you on the spot in front of the others.

His presence helps you gather your strength to continue. Despite the unease churning inside you knowing that Ghost is watching over you with such attentiveness gives you a small, but significant boost of confidence. You focus on the drills, pushing through the nausea and instability, bolstered by the knowledge that help is just a few steps away if you truly need it.

You begin to feel the oppressive heat bearing down on you more intensely than before. Each breath feels like you're inhaling fire. And the tactical gear, usually a familiar weight, now feels like an unbearable burden. Trapping too much heat against your body. More and more sweat beads on your forehead mixing with the slight dizziness that refuses to fade. The discomfort is escalating and despite your best efforts to mask it the heat is becoming unmanageable.

Ghost was still maintaining a discreet distance, watches you with sharp, observant eyes. He senses the subtle changes in your posture and the slight grimace that you can't quite hide each time you move. His concern deepens but he waits for a sign from you, respecting your pride and your position within the team.

As the drills continue you find it increasingly difficult to focus. The world seems to shimmer with heat around the edges and you feel a wave of nausea stronger than before. Recognizing that you might be in more trouble than you initially thought you catch Ghost's gaze across the field. It's a silent plea for understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that you do need his help after all.

Ghost responds immediately, his instincts as your LT kicking into high gear. He crosses the distance between you with a few quick strides. His approach discreet yet filled with purpose. “Everything okay?” he asks quietly. His voice low enough that only you can hear. It’s clear he’s prepared to step in, to offer whatever support you need without drawing unwanted attention to your struggle.

Your attempt to respond is less than reassuring. "Heat… too, it’s not the... can't—why can’t the air?" you mumble. Your words tangling into an unintelligible mess, a clear indicator that you are far from alright.

The expression behind Ghost's mask tightens, his protective instincts flaring as he assesses your condition with even greater alarm. Your face is flushed from more than just the heat. It's clear you're struggling significantly under the weight of your gear and the relentless sun.

At that moment Captain Price's voice cuts sharply through the air, his tone laced with the urgency of the drill. "Let's move it, Ghost, Y/N!" he commands from a distance, seemingly oblivious to the severity of your distress. His focus is on the continuity and discipline of the training. Unaware that one of his own is teetering on the edge of collapse.

Ghost’s response is swift and decisive. Without drawing attention to the situation, he steadies you with one arm, his other hand signaling subtly to Captain Price that something isn’t right. "Give us a moment, sir," he calls back firmly, his tone respectful yet insistent enough to convey the seriousness of the issue without alarming the entire unit.

He turns back to you, his gaze intense. "We need to get you out of the sun," he states quietly, directing you towards a shaded area nearby. His hand remains supportively on your back, guiding but not pushing. His presence a steady force as you stagger slightly under your own weight.

Once under the shade, Ghost helps you remove your tactical vest, easing the burden of the heat trapped against your body. The cooler air hits your skin, offering a momentary relief that you hadn't realized you needed so desperately. But as your body starts to cool an unexpected shiver runs through you, violent and uncontrollable. It feels as though the temperature has plummeted, though the day remains swelteringly hot.

"Ghost," you stutter out between shivers, "it's so cold." Your teeth chatter, a stark contrast to the sweat that still beads on your forehead. The sudden coldness is disorienting, confusing, and you clutch at your arms in an attempt to warm yourself.

"Simon," you manage to say between shivers. His actual name slipping out amidst the confusion—an unusual slip that does not escape his notice. Ghost, or Simon as you now call him, recognizes the gravity of the situation immediately. The usual protocols and formalities fade into the background as he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

You blink rapidly trying to focus as your surroundings become a blur. The ground seems to tilt beneath you for a second time and a wave of darkness edges your vision. Simon watches you closely with an arm around your waist in case. His trained eyes catching every sign of your deteriorating condition.

“Hang on,” he urges. His voice steady but the concern is palpable. Before he can offer more reassurance your knees buckle beneath you. Your body finally giving way to the overwhelming symptoms. And suddenly the world goes dark in your eyes.

Simon catches you before you hit the ground his arms securing you firmly yet gently. “Medic!” he shouts. The urgency in his voice cutting through the morning air without a hint of hesitation. Captain Price who had been overseeing the drills from a short distance, turns sharply at the sound. His quick assessment of the situation bringing him running.

Price approaches just as Simon adjusts his hold on you, bringing your body to the ground so you were laying.  “What happened?” Price asks. His voice a mix of command and concern.

“Heat stroke, I think—she’s out,” Simon responds curtly. His gaze fixed on you as he checks your pulse and looks for any sign of recovery. Your brief moments of unconsciousness are fleeting but each second is critical.

As you flutter your eyes open, confusion mingles with the need to communicate. “Simon... it’s all spinning,” you murmur with your voice overly weak. The use of his first name again in such a vulnerable state only cements his resolve to get you the help you need immediately.

As Simon kneels beside you he carefully supports your head, his eyes searching yours for any sign of recognition. “Can you tell me where you are?” he asks again. His voice a mix of firmness and concern trying to assess the level of your disorientation.

You blink slowly but the effort to focus feeling monumental. Your gaze drifts over the familiar yet strangely distant figures of Soap and Gaz before returning to Simon. “We're... in Bosnia?” you murmur hesitantly, the name of a recent mission location slipping out, completely unrelated to your current setting on the training field.

Simon’s expression tightens, a flicker of worry crossing his features as he realizes the depth of your confusion. He exchanges a quick, grave look with Captain Price who has been monitoring the situation closely. The incorrect answer confirms the seriousness of your condition, prompting Price to look around, expecting the medics to be approaching swiftly.

However, as Simon scans the area his frustration mounts. The medics, possibly delayed or misinformed about the severity of the situation, are nowhere in sight. Realizing that waiting even a moment longer could jeopardize your well-being he makes a decisive call.

"Not fast enough," Simon mutters under his breath. His protective instincts overriding protocol. Without waiting for the medics to arrive he gently but firmly scoops you up in his arms. His movements are swift and determined as he begins to rush you towards the infirmary. His concern for your immediate safety taking precedence over everything else.

Captain Price, upon seeing Simon’s sudden movement, understands the gravity of the decision and immediately acts. "Clear the way!” he shouts, commanding the attention of everyone on the field.

As Simon carries you, the world around you becomes a blur of motion and sound, but his steady grip provides a reassuring constant. "Hang on love, we're almost there. Just stay with me," he urges. His voice a soothing presence amid the confusion.

With each step Simon takes your sense of time and space dims, the urgency of his stride and the rhythm of his heartbeat blending into the background noise of the base. As you approach the infirmary you see figures moving quickly to prepare for your arrival.

Simon’s pace doesn’t falter until he reaches the medical staff waiting at the infirmary doors. As he gently hands you over to their care his gaze lingers on yours filled with concern and an unspoken promise of unwavering support, no matter the circumstances.

In the cool, sterile environment of the infirmary, Ghost stands a vigilant watch beside your bed. His gaze locked onto your face as the medical team works rapidly to stabilize your condition. The typical stoic mask he wears has fallen away, replaced by an expression etched with deep concern. Each furrow of his brow and tight set of his jaw reveals more than usual concern. It speaks of a profound fear that he rarely allows others to see.

As the medical staff step back momentarily to fetch additional supplies, Ghost's role shifts subtly but significantly. He transforms from a mere observer into an active caretaker, a role those in TF 141 rarely witness. He picks up a damp cloth and gently wipes your forehead. His touch delicate and caring, betraying the roughness expected from his formidable field presence.

"Hey, love, can you hear me?" he murmurs. His voice soft and laden with a tenderness that surprises even him. The word 'love' slips out naturally. A term of endearment that he hasn't used lightly before. This slip, this small but significant deviation from his usual manner, is a clear sign of his deepening feelings. Feelings he might not have fully acknowledged until this very moment.

You blink slowly, responding to the sound of his voice. Ghost watches for any sign of recognition, any indication that you understand his presence. As you meet his gaze, there's a moment of relief that passes over his features. But it's quickly replaced by renewed worry as he continues to monitor your responses.

He is utterly overwhelmed. A feeling that's foreign to him. He's faced countless dangers without flinching but the sight of you so vulnerable stirs a fear in him that battlefield threats never have. He realizes perhaps more clearly than ever how deeply his feelings for you run. It's not just friendship or brotherly protection. It's something much deeper, more personal.

He stays close, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The contact is meant to comfort you but it also grounds him, reminding him that you're still here, still fighting. "Stay with me, okay?" he adds quietly, almost pleadingly. This is not just a command from a superior officer; it's a personal plea from someone who cares deeply.

Ghost's presence in the infirmary becomes a constant, a guardian ensuring that no detail is overlooked, no necessary treatment delayed. His commitment to your recovery is unwavering, his actions driven by a mix of professional duty and personal concern that has become inseparable. The realization that his feelings for you have evolved adds a new weight to every decision, every action he takes on your behalf.

A few hours later, the haze of confusion and illness that enveloped your mind begins to clear slightly. As your eyes flutter open, the stark white lights of the infirmary momentarily blind you, and the unfamiliar sounds of medical equipment beep rhythmically in the background. Disoriented, you try to recall the sequence of events that led to this moment.

Sitting beside your bed, Ghost notices the subtle signs of consciousness returning. He leans forward, his presence reassuring amidst the clinical surroundings. "Hey, you're awake," he says gently. His voice a soothing contrast to the beeping machines. "Take it easy. You gave us quite a scare out there."

As fragments of memory return—the unbearable heat of the training field, your faltering steps, the feeling of collapse—your face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and discomfort. The realization that you succumbed in front of your team, particularly because of a flu exacerbating the situation, is hard to accept.

Ghost reads the embarrassment in your expression and quickly addresses it. "Listen, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. You’re dealing with the flu on top of everything else. Heat stroke is serious and it’s a lot for anyone to handle. Especially when you’re already under the weather," he reassures you earnestly.

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. His touch grounding. "Even the toughest soldiers need to take a step back sometimes. It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re human, that you have limits. It doesn't diminish your strength," he continues in your silence. His voice imbued with empathy and understanding.

Feeling the sincerity in his words helps ease some of your discomfort. "Thanks, Simon," you manage to whisper, your voice still weak but filled with gratitude. The informal use of his first name in such a vulnerable moment speaks volumes about the trust and comfort you’ve grown to have in him.

Simon offers a gentle smile. His eyes softening. "You’re always pushing yourself to be the best and that’s certainly admirable. But sometimes, taking care of yourself is part of being the best. Don’t blame yourself for this. I certainly don’t blame you for trying," he adds, affirming his support in you.

"Sleep now. Don’t worry about the rest for now. We’re all here for you," he suggests while still holding your hand, his steady presence a comforting constant as you drift back towards unconsciousness. His commitment to your well-being is clear not just as a teammate but as someone who cares deeply on a personal level.

As you close your eyes, comforted by his words and presence, you feel a profound sense of relief. Simon's quiet vigil lets you know that no matter what, you’re not alone. Periodically, he checks the IV line and adjusts the cold packs making sure to monitor your recovery closely.. Each time you stir or grimace in discomfort, he’s there, adjusting your position or simply offering a reassuring touch.

As the hours pass Ghost remains by your side, a silent sentinel. Even as you're asleep he doesn’t leave, instead pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed. Occasionally, other members of the team peek in offering quiet words of support. But it's clear Ghost has appointed himself your primary guardian during this vulnerable time.

This unexpected role of caretaker reveals a depth to Ghost that goes beyond his tactical prowess and battlefield grit. In the infirmary, with the soft hum of medical equipment in the background, his softer, caring nature comes to the forefront, showcasing a profound sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards his team. Especially towards you.

As the day's tension slowly ebbs away in the quiet of the infirmary, you sleep deeply, recovering from the ordeal. Ghost sits steadfast by your side. His focus is solely on you. His usually impassive gaze softened by concern. The door creaks open softly as Soap and Gaz walk in. Both their faces splitting into mischievous grins when they see Ghost in his uncharacteristic role as your caretaker.

“Never thought I’d see Ghost play the doting nurse,” Soap chuckles quietly. Trying to keep his voice low to avoid disturbing you. “What’s next? Will you be knitting her a sweater?”

Gaz joins in leaning against the door frame with a smirk playing on his lips, “Maybe a nice scarf to go with it, mate. Make sure it matches her eyes, yeah?” His comment draws a soft laugh from Soap. Their teasing lightening the atmosphere of the infirmary.

Their laughter, though subdued, is a needed release after the day’s stress. It’s filled with genuine affection and respect for both you and Ghost. They understand the stakes of such moments and the bonds they forge.

Ghost, not missing a beat, shoots them a pointed look. His response is tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Keep it up, and you'll be on the next solo recon mission in the coldest part of Siberia," he replies. His tone firm but with a faint smirk betraying his amusement.

In the background Captain Price stands silently in the doorway. His observant eyes taking in the scene. He watches Ghost’s interactions with a discerning eye, noting the subtle softness in his usually stoic demeanor. Price is no stranger to the complexities of personal dynamics within his team. And he senses the potential implications of Ghost’s deepening concern for you. There’s a hint of understanding in his gaze, mixed with caution, as he ponders the path this could lead down.

As the laughter begins to die down Price steps forward, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. He gives Soap and Gaz a brief nod, a clear signal that it’s time for them to leave. The moment for jokes has passed and it's time to restore some decorum. As they exit Soap can’t resist throwing one final teasing comment over his shoulder. “Take good care of her, Ghost!” he calls out as his tone is playful yet sincere.

Price remains a moment longer his gaze lingering on Ghost and then shifting to you, asleep and unaware of the exchange. There’s a quiet gravity to his demeanor, an unspoken reminder of his leadership role and his understanding of the deeper currents flowing beneath the surface of his team’s interactions.

Captain Price approaches Ghost, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. He pauses beside him, his voice low and measured to ensure privacy. "Simon," he begins. His tone serious but not without warmth, "you're handling this well and it's clear you care deeply. Just remember, maintaining balance is crucial." His eyes, steady and understanding, meet Ghost's, acknowledging the depth of his concern while gently reminding him of his broader responsibilities.

"Don't lose focus. We rely on you—not just for her, but for the whole team," Price continues, his voice softening slightly to underscore his supportive intent.

Ghost nods, the gravity of Price's words resonating with him. "Understood, sir," he responds, his tone reflecting both respect for Price's leadership and an acute awareness of the weight on his shoulders.

Price places a hand on Ghost's shoulder, a gesture that speaks of his care and mutual respect. "Keep me posted. If there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask," he adds. Emphasizing his role not just as a commander but as a supporter willing to provide resources rather than merely oversee.

"Will do, sir," Ghost says, his voice steady as he watches Price prepare to leave the infirmary. Price gives him one last affirming nod—an acknowledgment of Ghost's commitment and his understanding of the emotional complexities involved. As Price walks away his demeanor reflects as a leader who trusts his team to handle personal challenges with professionalism yet remains ready to step in if the balance shifts too far.

Once alone again Ghost turns back to you, his expression softening as he adjusts the blanket around you and checks the monitors to ensure everything is as it should be. In these quiet moments his demeanor reveals the profound loyalty and protectiveness he feels. Traits that define him just as much as his combat skills.

The room is quiet, the only sounds are the gentle beeping of the medical equipment and your steady breathing. In this sanctuary away from the battlefield's chaos, Ghost’s vigilance continues, a promise of unwavering support.

In the dimly lit infirmary, the soft beeps of the monitor blend with the quiet sounds of the night. Ghost sits closely by your side, his eyes tracing over your peaceful face, contrasting sharply with the day’s earlier tension. The room is calm now, the urgency has passed, but the weight of the day lingers in the air heavy with unspoken words.

Leaning closer Ghost watches you for a long moment. His expression a mix of concern and something softer, more vulnerable. He knows you can’t hear him, but the words slip out quietly anyway. A whisper meant only for you. "You’re killing me here, love," he murmurs. The hint of a smile touching his lips despite the worry in his eyes. It’s a rare admission. One that reveals just how deeply he’s been affected by your condition.

He sighs lightly, the sound almost lost in the quiet of the room. Adjusting the blanket around you one last time to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible, he finally leans back in his chair. His gaze remains fixed on you a moment longer as a guardian watching over you.

Realizing the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion settling into his bones Ghost decides he wasn’t willing to leave you yet. Not when you’d hardly regained consciousness and certainly not when you might need him upon waking. He shifts to make himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside your bed, his body angled to keep you in sight.

As he settles in, his eyes slowly close but it’s clear he’s not completely given over to sleep. Even in rest, he’s alert, ready to wake at the slightest change in your condition. In this quiet vigil, his presence is both a promise and a protection. A steadfast commitment to be there for you when you finally do wake.

The night deepens around the two of you. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor a constant in the otherwise still room. Ghost, in his chair, remains by your side. A figure in the dim light embodying both the warrior and the caretaker in this rare moment of peace.

As the first light of dawn begins to filter through the blinds of the infirmary your eyes flutter open greeting the new day with a mix of confusion and sluggish awareness. Initially, your vision is blurry, the shapes and colors of the room melding into indistinct forms. Gradually though your eyes adjust, and the figure slumped in the chair beside your bed comes into sharper focus. Ghost, asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the wall.

The sight of him so uncharacteristically vulnerable in sleep immediately warms your heart. Despite the residual fog clouding your mind a soft smile plays on your lips. "Ghost," you call out, your voice hoarse but audible enough to stir him from his light slumber.

At the sound of your voice Ghost snaps awake, instantly alert. He straightens up before rubbing the stiffness from his neck as he turns to face you. His eyes that displayed a flicker of reprieve meet yours. "Hey, you're awake," he says. His voice rough with sleep but tinged with unmistakable relief. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," you reply. Your voice was still weak but filled with gratitude. "You stayed all night?"

Ghost nods, a soft expression crossing his face as he hears your voice. This subtle return to normalcy reassures him. Warming his heart and letting him know you must be feeling a bit better to revert to familiar terms. "Yes, I stayed. Didn’t want you to wake up alone here," he replies. His tone gentle. Ghost’s eyes scan your face for signs of pain or lingering confusion, ever the vigilant guardian.

"Thanks, Ghost. Really," you manage to say feeling comforted not only by his presence but also by the return to a semblance of normalcy. His constant vigilance, even as you slept, speaks volumes of his dedication not just to his duty but to you personally.

Ghost offers a slight smile, one that reaches his eyes this time. "No need to thank me. Just glad to see you're doing better," he says. He pulls a chair closer to your bed, settling in. "Need anything? Water? More pain meds?" he asks. Ready to assist with whatever you might need.

The simple exchange is light yet filled with unspoken care helps to ease the remaining tension from the ordeal. As Ghost continues to make sure you’re comfortable, you feel a profound sense of safety and appreciation for the bond that has only deepened through this experience. The conversation drifts into a comfortable silence filled with unspoken understanding and mutual respect. In this quiet early morning hour, a new layer of your relationship has been gently unfolded. Revealing the depth of connection that hardship and vulnerability can foster.

As the morning sun continues to pour a warm glow into the infirmary the doctor finishes his examination and nods with satisfaction. "You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I think you're ready to be discharged today. Just remember to take it easy for the next few days," he advises as he begins to pack away his equipment.

Ghost's reaction is almost immediate, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you sure she’s ready?" he questions the doctor. His voice carrying a protective edge that makes you smile inwardly. His overt protectiveness is both touching and reassuring. A stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

The doctor, accustomed to dealing with the cautious nature of soldiers about their comrades, reassures him with a confident nod. "Yes, she's stable. Just ensure she rests and avoids any strenuous activity. She should be fine," he explains patiently.

Despite the reassurance Ghost still looks unconvinced. His gaze flicking back to you, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering weakness. "Maybe another day for observation?" he suggests. His tone half-questioning, half-requesting. It's evident he'd prefer you stay under medical supervision a bit longer.

Your heart warms at his concern and though you find his overprotectiveness endearing, you keep your thoughts to yourself. Instead, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his hand instead. "Ghost, I think I’ll be okay," you assure him gently trying to alleviate his worries.

Ghost manages a small smile. His usual impassive facade softening. "Just making sure," he mutters. Though his eyes remain tender with concern. He finally nods accepting the doctor's verdict, but his posture stays alert, protective.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that. But we’re taking it slow for the next few days. I’ll let Price know." he declares. His tone firm, directed more at himself than anyone else.

As the doctor leaves Ghost assists you in gathering your belongings. His movements careful and considerate. He checks in frequently asking if you're feeling alright to continue, his cautiousness evident but heartening. It’s clear that although you’ve been given the all-clear Ghost will be keeping a close eye on you, ensuring your recovery proceeds without issue.

His unwavering attention not only makes you feel deeply cared for but also subtly deepens the bond between you, underscoring a shift in your relationship where his role as protector has become as instinctive as it is essential.

As you swing your legs off the bed and attempt to stand a momentary wave of dizziness makes your legs waver slightly. Instantly, Ghost is there, his hand firm on your waist, steadying you. His touch is gentle yet secure, grounding you in the moment.

You laugh it off with a light flush coloring your cheeks. "Just wobbly legs," you joke trying to ease the tension you feel from his close presence. Despite your attempt to downplay the situation your movements are still a bit too brisk. A clear sign you might be overestimating your current strength.

Ghost doesn't smile but there's a tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Take it slow, love," he advises, his tone almost demanding. His hand remains on your back as a discreet but constant presence. He guides you slowly out of the infirmary. You feel the steadiness of his support with each step you take. His careful pace ensures you don't overexert yourself, allowing you time to adjust as you walk. The corridor seems longer than you remember but Ghost’s reassuring presence makes the journey feel safer, more manageable.

"You don’t have to rush this," he continues. Sensing your eagerness to prove your recovery. "We’ll get there when we get there." His words are simple but effective reminding you that your health is the priority not the speed of your recovery.

As you proceed you lean slightly into his support realizing how crucial his support has been, not just physically but also emotionally. Ghost’s unwavering steadiness helps bolster your confidence, making you feel that no matter how shaky your steps might be you won't fall as long as he’s by your side.

The walk back to your room is quiet but comfortable. It’s filled with an unspoken understanding that something significant has shifted between you. When you reach your door, Ghost finally pulls his hand away, but the warmth of his touch lingers.

"Thanks again, Ghost. For everything," you say while meeting his gaze. It's an open acknowledgment of all he's done and all he might continue to do.

"Anytime, love. Just... please take care of yourself," he responds. There’s a promise in his words, an implication that he'll always be nearby, watching over you.

As you reach the door to your quarters, Simon pauses, his hand resting lightly against the frame. "Can I help you get settled back in?" he asks. His tone as soft as it has been before, something new that has overcome him in your incident. His concern clearly evident.

You nod, touched by his attentiveness and as you enter your room he follows close behind. Simon watches carefully as you slowly make your way to your bed and sit down, still feeling a bit shaky. The room is familiar and comforting but his presence makes it feel even safer, more serene.

Once you're seated on the bed, he scans the room quickly, always alert for what you might need. "You sure you don't need anything else? Some more water? A snack?” Ghost asks, already moving towards your small kitchenette. He assumed a role that went beyond duty into something more personal.

You smile at his back, warmed by his concern. "I’m fine, Ghost. Really," you reassure him. But he shakes his head, not entirely convinced.

"It's no trouble at all. You should eat something," he insists gently while fetching a glass of water and a small snack from your stash. Simple things that you hadn't thought you’d needed until he presented them. As he hands you the glass his fingers brush yours lightly, sending a small, unexpected shiver up your arm. You thank him with a soft smile, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Noticing a few strands of hair falling over your face, Simon reaches out and gently brushes them back, his touch delicate and caring. His hand lingers for a moment, a silent expression of his deeper feelings.

You’re momentarily stunned but thrilled, nonetheless. You find it hard to find words as his hand lingers on your face. "I know I keep thanking you but thanks again Simon. For... well, for everything," you say after a moment. Your voice low and sincere. Using his first name feels natural, reflecting the shift in your relationship.

He pauses, looking into your eyes with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be," he replies. His voice so soft it’s nearly a whisper, revealing the depth of his feelings.

"If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be just a call away, love," He adds imbued with a warmth that reassures and comforts. His use of ‘love’ is tender, an endearment that resonates deeply, marking a significant moment in your ever evolving relationship.

He gives you a lingering look that was filled with care and a promise of protection before he reluctantly steps towards the door. There's a hint of hesitation in his movement, a subtle pause that conveys his desire to stay longer.

As he exits, gently closing the door behind him, you lie back against your pillows, the glass of water in your hand. His presence has left a comforting warmth in the room. A sense of safety that lulls you towards rest. The thought of Simon being just a call away brings a smile to your face. And as you close your eyes it’s not just the fatigue that makes you feel at ease. It’s knowing Simon is there, caring for you with a tenderness that goes beyond the call of duty.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[scoutofmymind]

re a trois-lasan possible fic: all three of them are bisexuals but reader has only been with women before 🫣

As the World Caves In — {Hasan x Luigi x Reader}

Tags: bisexual!everybody, roommate reader, hurt/comfort, m/m/f, threesome, sexual orientation invalidation!!!, come eating, handjob, boys kissing, fluffy, sortofvirgin!Reader, everyone is a streamer, pet names, TURKISH pet names, there’s too much going on to tag everything

Wc: 8,240

🎪⭐️AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT⭐️🎪

Uhh yall ever seen that stream where Hasan’s dad sets off the fire alarms and he goes “ahhh c’mon Baba” ?? Bc if you haven’t here it is. I think it’s so cute idc so I made his dad bring him back candy from home 🇹🇷 (bc he’s a sour bitch)

This is a LOOOONG one. I also added texts and a tweet (NOT X ) because idk why not. This has only been edited and proofread once.. do not blame me for mistakes teehee. Enjoy angels 🪽💋

"You've only been with women," Hasan muses through a mouthful of Turkish sour candy his Baba brought back from a visit back home, sprawled across the couch like he owns it (because he does), one leg dangling off the arm. "How do you even know you like guys?"

You catch yourself shifting between staring at him in disbelief and looking to Luigi for backup, but the latter hasn't even glanced up from his phone, though there's a telling tension in his shoulders that suggests he's listening.

"Lu," you appeal, gesturing at Hasan with barely contained exasperation, "are you hearing this bullshit?"

Luigi hums softly, "mm?" glancing up momentarily from his phone where he's engrossed in Trotti's latest article, Designing for Mars' Harsh Environment; and the way his brow furrows suggesting he's been lost in the technical aspects of atmospheric pressure design and radiation shielding.

"Hasan is implying that I'm not actually bisexual." You watch as Hasan's shoulders lift in that theatrical shrug of his, lips pursed in feigned innocence, expression saying 'who, me?' but the slight tension in his jaw betrays him. "As if he's somehow appointed himself the grand arbiter of everyone's sexuality. Like he's got a PhD in Who Gets To Be Bi, or some shit."

Hasan sucks his teeth, and it's the same dismissive sound he makes when dealing with trolls in his chat.

"Well, I've sucked dick and eaten pussy," he says, tilting his head at you with that same combative energy he usually reserves for debate lords on twitter. His voice has that edge to it, the one that says he thinks he's won something. "Can you say you've done that?"

The silence stretches between you, thick with irritation and something darker, his "Right" landing like a challenge, smug and entirely too self-satisfied.

Something twists in your chest — an achingly familiar sensation, echoing that first moment of realization about your sexuality.

It's that same cocktail of emotions; fear threading through your ribcage, confusion clouding your thoughts, but this time the shame hits harder.

It's different when it comes from someone who should know better, someone you considered safe.

You let the silence stretch, not trusting your voice to remain steady while part of you wants to list every crush, every lingering glance, every moment of clarity that brought you here — another part, the part still nursing that old wound, refuses to justify your identity to someone who should know better.

This is different — this is Hasan, and somehow that makes it worse.

"That's enough." Luigi’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and final. He doesn't even look up from his phone this time, just delivers the words with the kind of casual authority that suggests he's already bored with Hasan's take.

But his dismissal, however effective at silencing Hasan, skims right over the damage already done.

He misses the way your jaw is still clenched, how your fingers haven't loosened their grip on your arms, the slight tremor in your breathing.

The wound is already open — Hasan's words finding that tender spot where doubt used to live — and Luigi's quick defense, while appreciated, doesn't quite reach the deeper hurt settling in your chest.

"I'm going for a drive.” you say, voice steadier than you feel. Your keys are already in your hand — you don't remember reaching for them on the hook by the door, but there they are, cool metal looped around your pointer finger.

The house you all share suddenly feels too small, too close.

Usually, the lived-in chaos of three people's lives tangled together is comforting — Luigi's engineering journals scattered across the coffee table, Hasan's streaming room, your plants in every window.

Right now, though, it's suffocating.

"Hey, wait-“ Hasan starts, but you're already closing the front door behind you, pretending not to hear the way Luigi mutters "nice fucking job." as you leave.

The driver's seat of your car feels like refuge, and you start the engine before either of them can think to follow you out, though you catch a glimpse of movement behind the living room curtain as you pull away.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket almost immediately.

Then again. And again.

It's not even about Hasan's ignorance.

Not really.

It's about how quickly you were thrown back to being fifteen again, questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself and how easily someone you trust can make you feel like you're still trying to prove something.

You're not angry exactly, but you're not ready to face Hasan's awkward apology or Luigi's well-meaning but slightly detached attempt to mediate.

Your phone hasn't stopped its intermittent buzzing.

At a red light, you glance down to see multiple notifications from Hasan.

You switch the phone to silent and toss it onto the passenger seat.

The light turns green, and you take the coastal route automatically, muscle memory guiding you toward the overlook where you used to come and think before you all moved in together.

The overlook is empty when you pull in, just your car and the endless stretch of ocean ahead. You cut the engine but leave the keys in the ignition, letting the residual heat from the vents fight against the evening chill.

Below, waves crash against the rocks in a rhythm that's more felt than heard through the glass.

Your phone screen lights up again on the passenger seat — a separate message from Luigi this time.

The thing is, you know Hasan.

Know how he gets when he thinks he's right about something, how that energy sometimes bypasses his better judgment. Know he'll probably spend the next week trying to make it up to you with coffee just how you like it and random acts of thoughtfulness.

And you'll forgive him, because that's what you do in this weird little unit you've built together.

But right now, watching the last of the sun sink into the Pacific, you let yourself sit with the hurt.

Let yourself remember every dismissive comment, every raised eyebrow, every "but how do you know?" that came before this moment.

Let yourself feel fifteen, sixteen, seventeen again, just for a minute, before you have to go back to being an adult who understands that sometimes the people we love can be thoughtless without meaning to break something.

The dashboard clock blinks 7:43 when another text comes through. This time it's a photo from Luigi — Hasan sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable, clearly mid-rant about how he's "such a fucking asshole." And there’s something both comforting and irritating about seeing him process his guilt in real time.

Like, yes, you deserved better than his casual invalidation, but also, this isn't actually about making him feel better about feeling bad.

You switch the engine back on, more for the heat than anything else.

A few more cars have pulled into the overlook —couples and others seeking solitude, all keeping their respectful distance; It reminds you of the first time you came here, after telling your best friend you thought you might like girls, too.

How she'd said "cool" and kept painting her nails like you hadn't just shifted your entire world on its axis.

Your phone lights up again.

Despite everything, you feel the corner of your mouth twitch.

Trust Hasan to stress-cook his way through an apology, knowing full well the way to your heart will always be carbs.

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, letting out a long breath that fogs the lower windshield.

The irony isn't lost on you — how Hasan, of all people, managed to trigger this particular flavor of insecurity. Hasan, who once went on a two-hour stream rant about bisexual erasure in media. Hasan, who literally has a pride flag hanging in his streaming room.

Your phone buzzes one more time. Luigi again.

The laugh that escapes you is small, but genuine.

The door barely clicks shut behind you before Hasan's there, all frantic energy and guilt-ridden affection. His hands find your face immediately, thumbs gentle against your cheekbones even as words tumble out of him. "I'm so fucking sorry," he breathes against your forehead between kisses, "I'm an absolute dickhead, I know, I'm the worst-“

You stay still in his hold, not pulling away but not melting into it either.

Over Hasan's shoulder, you catch Luigi watching from his spot on the couch, his expression careful, assessing whether to intervene.

Hasan's still murmuring apologies into your hair, and something in your chest aches at how genuinely distressed he is, but another part of you wants to hold onto the hurt just a little longer.

"I made pasta," he says softly, almost pleading. "And I swear to god I'll never say stupid shit like that again-“ He stops when you open your eyes to meet his, really seeing the hurt that still lingers there. "Fuck," he whispers, thumbs still moving gently across your soft skin. "I’m sorry.”

You suck in a slow breath and nod at him, side stepping toward the kitchen to grab a bowl from the cabinet, filling it with pasta that looks promising while behind you, Luigi and Hasan both stare at each other, coming to realize this likely won’t be fixed in a few hours time, or even a day.

And they were right.

You retreat into solitude, not exactly avoiding them but not seeking them out, either.

The ocean becomes your hiding spot — paddling out alone into the early morning swells, finding peace in the rhythm of waves rather than Hasan's encouraging calls or Luigi's excited whoops. When hunger draws you into town, you choose quiet corners in familiar cafes, picking at your food while mindlessly scrolling through social media, the empty chair across from you a silent companion.

It's not running away, you tell yourself.

It's just... processing.

You finally acknowledge the inevitable — you can't keep playing specter in your own home forever.

Still, when you push through the front door, exhaustion pulls you straight to your room like gravity, the soft click of your bedroom door feeling like surrender as you sink into the bed that's become both refuge and prison these past forty-eight hours.

The immediate gentle rap against wood is inevitable, like thunder after lightning.

Luigi's voice filters through, soft and hesitant, accompanied by the dull thud that tells you he's resting his head against your door. "Hey," he says, the word carrying the weight of two days' worth of unspoken conversations. "Can I come in?"

You remain curled in your defensive position, watching shadows shift under the door.

Part of you wants to maintain the silence, but Luigi's always been the easier one to face.

Your exhale feels heavy in your chest as you answer, "Yeah."

When the door opens, Luigi navigates your room like he's crossing a minefield, each step measured and deliberate until he settles beside you on the bed where his arm finds its way around you with practiced ease, and the familiar weight of him against your back is like a raft in the endless sea, pulling you back from the depths you've been drifting in.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet charged with everything unsaid.

His fingers brush your hair back with a tenderness that makes your throat tight, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. "You been taking care of yourself in here?" he asks softly, and you can hear him taking in the hurricane aftermath of your room — clothes scattered like debris, yesterdays coffee still on your nightstand, the general entropy of someone who stopped caring about order two days ago.

"Depends, is taking care of myself a spectrum that needs validating, too?" The words come out dripping with acid, but Luigi doesn't flinch. He's weathered your storms before, knows the difference between lightning meant to strike and lightning meant to illuminate.

"I think yes, actually.” he murmurs, continuing to card gentle fingers through your hair.

Each stroke pulls away another layer of your shield, exposing you inch by inch until you're left with nowhere to hide. Still, you keep your gaze fixed on the wall, as if the cream-colored paint holds answers to questions you haven't even formed yet.

It's easier than meeting his eyes, than seeing the understanding there that you're not sure you deserve.

"Fuck off," you whimper, retreating into your sweater paws like a wounded animal seeking shelter, waiting to die. "Just leave me alone." The words lack their usual bite, suddenly sounding more like a plea than a command.

Luigi's arm tightens around you in response, a silent refusal of your request. You can feel his resolve settling in like a physical weight — he won't budge until he's at least patched the surface wounds, even if the deeper cuts still need time to heal. "I'm just fucking with you," he whispers, and normally this would be fine — you've always been able to take his jabs, throw them back harder, even.

But something fundamental has shifted, like a fault line finally giving way, and Luigi recognizes the tremors. Now isn't the time to prod at fresh bruises, not when the initial impact is still reverberating.

"What he said wasn't right." Luigi burrows his face into your back, his words vibrating against your spine through the worn fabric of your comfort sweater, which just so happened to be one you’d stolen from Hasan’s closet ages ago and never gave back. "He was incredibly wrong for it. And I promise, he realizes that." The sincerity in his voice only feeds the bitterness coursing through you.

You wrench away enough to fix him with a glacial stare, lips curling into something cruel. "Oh, did he say that while he was bending you over the kitchen counter again?" The words come out like shards of glass, designed to cut. "Claiming he's so fucking bisexual when the only pussy he's gotten in like two years is yours."

It's a low blow and you know it — weaponizing their romance, their secret-to-everyone-else-but-you intimacy, turning it into ammunition.

But right now, you want it to hurt.

Luigi sucks in a sharp breath like your words branded him, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "There she is." The fondness in his voice only makes your chest ache more.

You curl tighter into yourself, letting him pull you back against his chest, his arm around your middle feeling like the only thing holding your pieces together. "His bullshit god complex is fine when he's talking to a billion eighteen to twenty-somethings thirsting after him on the stream, but-“ your voice drops to something vulnerable, something raw, "there's no room for it at home."

You feel Luigi's chest vibrate with a low hum of agreement, his chin dipping in a slow nod against your shoulder. In that moment, you both understand that some boundaries, once crossed, require more than just an apology to rebuild.

"And he cancelled his fucking stream because he has to 'sort some shit out'?" Your laugh is all broken glass and razor wire. "Are you fucking serious?"

Luigi shifts behind you, and you can feel the moment he realizes you haven't seen what he has — Hasan pacing holes in the living room floor, running hands through his hair until it’s mussed into wild curls, the self-loathing written in every line of his body.

"You know, he only said that becau-"

But the dam has broken now, two days of silence exploding into sharp-edged storm of words. "One and a half million people losing their shit over his armpits, and he has to come at me for never fucking a dude?" Your voice cracks with the absurdity of it all, the hypocrisy burning in your throat.

The irony isn't lost on you — Hasan, who built his platform challenging toxic masculinity, somehow becoming the very voice he fights against in your own home.

"Well, baby, I think it's-"

"What does that have to do with him, anyway? Other than the fact that he was trying to prove he was more bisexual than me." The words taste bitter as they leave your mouth, and you hear their childish edge even as you speak them, but the floodgates have already broken.

"He's not even fucking out, either. And if I wanted to hit below the belt like he hit me, I would tell him that much." Your breath catches, sharp and painful as you teeter on the edge of something unforgivable. "That at least my audience knows-"

"It's because he wants to fuck you."

Your tirade dies in your throat, jaw clicking shut as your brain frantically attempts to process what you've just heard and the anger that's been fueling you suddenly stutters, like an engine running out of gas.

"He what?"

Luigi's sigh is gentle against your neck, his hand moving in soothing strokes along your thigh. "Did you actually not hear me, or-" There's a hint of knowing amusement in his voice, like he's watched you slam headfirst into a wall you didn't even know was there.

"No - I -" The words catch as you wrench yourself upright, staring down at Luigi who's sprawled on his back now, watching you with that impossibly gentle expression that somehow makes this whole thing worse. "I fucking heard you."

"Oh. Ok." His response is casual, almost lazy, but his eyes never leave your face as you both fester in the silence. It's a peculiar moment — you, processing this seismic shift in understanding, and Luigi, looking like he's finally set down a burden he's been carrying for ages.

The dynamic between the three of you had always walked a blurry line — something your viewers had picked up on long before you'd bothered to examine it.

Your Twitch chat would explode whenever Hasan wandered shirtless through your frame, or when Luigi's casual touches lingered just a breath too long when he offers to feed you a bite of his croissants.

Their viewers weren't any better, clipping every loaded glance, every playful flirtation, crafting theories about the true nature of your household's relationships on its own SubReddit.

You'd never felt the need to define it, to box it into labels. The kisses shared with Hasan had come easy — pressed against kitchen counters after too many drinks, or sprawled on Hawaiian beaches with tabs of acid dissolving on your tongues. With Luigi, it was even more natural, affection flowing between you like an old married couple at times.

But you'd always attributed it to the comfortable freedom of chosen family, to the way certain substances and settings made loving your friends feel as natural as breathing.

Now, though, you're forced to wonder if you've been willfully blind to something your audiences saw clearly years ago.

"So all those times..." you trail off, mind racing through months of interactions with new context — the lingering touches, the heated arguments that felt more like foreplay, the way his eyes would track you across rooms. "When chat would spam those emotes during our streams..”

Luigi's laugh is soft, knowing. "You mean when your chat goes feral every time Hasan walks by and flexes? Or when his chat loses it whenever you wear his merch to sleep?" He props himself up on an elbow, gesturing to the sweater on your body in that very moment, watching your face process. "They've been seeing it for months.“

You think about the clips that circulate — moments caught on stream that seemed innocent at the time but now feel charged with meaning.

The way Hasan's hand would find your waist during group photos, how he'd get particularly aggressive in defending you from chat's criticism, those late-night streams where his gaze would linger just a bit too long.

"But you and him-“ you start, then stop, uncertain how to frame the question.

"Me and him what?" Luigi prompts gently, though his expression suggests he knows exactly what you're struggling to articulate. "Are together? Kinda. Not really. But that doesn't negate-“ He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Look, we've never been conventional, the three of us. You know that."

You sink back down beside him, mind spinning. "So when he came at me about being fake-bisexual-“

"He was projecting. Hard." Luigi's fingers find your hair again, resuming their soothing rhythm. "You know how he gets when he's fighting feelings he's not ready to deal with. Don’t forget, he spent a whole week two years ago ranting about parasocial relationships on stream right before he realized he actually had his own fucked up obsession with me before we met.”

"So this whole identity crisis meltdown was actually about-“

"About wanting you? Yeah. And feeling guilty about wanting you, because of me, because of his public image, because of a million other things his anxiety-riddled brain came up with."

You let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. "Jesus Christ, we're all fucking idiots."

"Speak for yourself," Luigi's tone is playful, but there's an undercurrent of something more serious. "Some of us have been very aware of what's going on. Just waiting for the other two to catch up."

The thought of Luigi watching this whole dance play out, understanding both sides while you and Hasan circled each other like cat and mouse makes you groan. "How long?"

"That stream where you both got into it. The one that ended up all over LSF.” His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair. "The way he looks at you when you’re fired up, passionate — I knew. And I knew you were just as drawn to him, even if you were both too fucking stubborn to see it."

As if beckoned, there's another tap at the door — lighter than Luigi's had been, less confident, but heavy all the same. "Hey," Hasan begins, his forehead pressed against the door just as Luigi's had been moments before, "can I come in?"

You look at Luigi, and then at the door, hoping that maybe he'd make the decision for you, but it seems he's in no mood to rescue you any further. His dark eyes meet yours with quiet understanding — this is your move to make, your decision to call. The weight of it settles in your chest, alongside the echo of Hasan's voice, uncharacteristically small through the wood.

“Come in.” You decide eventually, your voice light, unsure, terrified of ruining anything further than it may have already been.

The sight of him when he opens your door is warm, his body as large as usual, but he looks much smaller somehow, his features soft with solemn, his cheeks stained red from the last two days of worrying — it’s breathtaking in a way, seeing him in a new light, bound to you with new purpose.

Luigi stays propped on his elbow, his fingertips grazing gently over your forearm as he waits for his world to heal, or to cave in.

"Please forgive me." Hasan scrubs his hands over his face, glasses abandoned somewhere in his room, leaving him looking strangely naked and boyish without them. "Or tell me you'll never look at me again. Just-“ he sucks in a shuddering breath, "Let me live or put me out of my misery."

You can't help but note his theatrics, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve like a Shakespearean tragedy.

But there's nothing artificial about it — this is purely Hasan, who's always felt everything at maximum volume; you’ve seen it countless times in the way he rants about politics until his voice goes hoarse, how his eyes follow Luigi across rooms, and how he throws his whole body into laughing at your jokes.

Despite how deeply his words had cut you two nights ago, despite the ache that still sits heavy in your chest, you know his pain is just as real. He's been wrestling with his own demons these past few days — torn between his undefined limbo with Luigi, his growing feelings for you, and the fear of destroying the delicate ecosystem the three of you have created.

"Come here." Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, softer than you've ever spoken to him, but your arms reach out with more certainty than your words. He stares at the offered embrace like it might be a mirage, like you might snatch it away the moment he moves and the hesitation in his usually confident movements makes your heart clench.

Finally, he breaks, crossing the space between you in those long strides of his. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in, fitting himself into the space between you and Luigi like he's afraid of taking up too much room — so different from his usual sprawling presence.

Then he's folding himself around you, his broad frame covering yours completely, face buried in the crook of your neck as he holds you like he's memorizing the feeling, like you might dissolve into smoke if he loosens his grip.

The quiet settles around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft sounds of breathing and the distant hum of city life through your window.

Hasan's weight should feel suffocating, but instead it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the last few days where everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

You feel Luigi's hand slide up your arm again, a tender point of contact that bridges the gap between all three of you, and then his fingers trail higher until they tangle in the short hairs at the nape of Hasan's neck, and you feel the larger man shudder against you at the touch.

It's intimate in a way that makes your chest tight — not with jealousy as it might have been before, but with something else, something expanding and undefined.

"I'm sorry," Hasan mumbles again into your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone with each word. "I didn't mean to- I wasn't trying to-" He struggles to find the words, and you feel his frustration in how his fingers curl tighter into your (his) sweatshirt.

You wait, patient now in a way you couldn't be during the argument, letting him find his way through the tangle of his thoughts.

"I know," you murmur, because you do. You understand now what you couldn't see through the red haze of hurt before — how his fear of disrupting the careful balance between the three of you had made him lash out, pushing you away before you could reject him first.

How he'd been watching you and Luigi dance around each other for over a year now, the same way you'd been watching them, and Luigi and been watching the two of you, everyone too afraid to acknowledge the growing tension, the deliberate touches, the prolonged glances across the dinner table.

Luigi's hand leaves Hasan's neck to cup your cheek, turning your face toward him. His eyes are dark and serious in the dim light of your bedroom, searching your face for something, and whatever he finds there makes his expression soften, the corner of his mouth lifting in that quiet way of his that always makes your heart swell.

"You could have just told me." The words come out softer than intended as you look at Luigi, one hand absently trailing along Hasan's spine where he's still draped over you. "Both of you."

There's a weighted pause, and Luigi meets your gaze with that gentle steadiness of his, though you catch the slight tension in his jaw. "Well," he says finally, "I just did."

His voice carries a note of something — not quite defense, not quite apology. His fingers trace abstract patterns against your shoulder, and you know he's thinking of all the times he'd tried to bridge this gap before.

It was never his place to unravel Hasan's heart for him, though Luigi had always been the bravest of you three when it came to matters of love — quick to affirm his feelings for you both, ready to acknowledge the way his affection spilled over boundaries you'd all pretended to maintain.

Even now, watching him watch Hasan, you can see that same careful love in his eyes, patient and unwavering.

Often, Luigi would wonder if you truly didn't see it or if you were choosing to look away — if maybe that was easier than acknowledging the way Hasan's eyes would linger on you both over morning coffee, the way conversations would stretch into loaded silences, the way touch had become its own language between the three of you.

A year of each of you being just out of reach.

"Tell you what?" Hasan lifts his head from your neck, and this close you can see every detail of his face — the constellation of freckles across his nose, the slight crease between his brows, the vulnerability raw in his eyes.

He looks at you first, then Luigi, and you feel the moment his heart rate spikes, the thundering pulse where his chest meets yours. It's strange, you think, how someone so large can suddenly seem so fragile, caught between fight and flight.

You look between them — Luigi's knowing half-smile, Hasan's deer-in-headlights stare — and something warm unfurls in your chest. Your arms tighten around Hasan instinctively, leg hooking over his thigh as if to keep him from bolting. "You handle crushes like a middle schooler," you murmur, and the words should be teasing but they come out tender instead, wrapped in all the affection you've been carefully compartmentalizing.

Hasan's breath catches audibly, and you feel the tremor that runs through him, see the way his pupils dilate as he processes your words while Luigi huffs out a soft laugh, reaching over to brush his knuckles against the dimple in your cheek, the gesture achingly familiar.

You throw caution to the wind, tired of the performance, tired of pretending. With one arm still wrapped around Hasan, you reach for Luigi, fingers curling into his shirt to draw him closer. His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning just before your lips meet his.

It's nothing like your previous kisses — those hazy moments colored by tequila shots or mushrooms on a beach in Hawaii, always with plausible deniability come morning.

This is deliberate, clear-headed, a statement as much as it is a kiss.

You feel Hasan's breath hitch against your neck, feel the way his fingers tighten in your sweatshirt.

But he doesn't pull away — if anything, he presses closer, like he's afraid to miss a moment of this as Luigi makes a soft sound against your mouth, something reverent and wanting.

When you finally break apart, Luigi's eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. His thumb traces your lower lip, and you feel Hasan shudder against you at the gesture.

"Fuck," Hasan breathes, and the raw want in his voice makes you shiver. His eyes are fixed on where Luigi's thumb still rests against your lip, tracking the small movement like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. There's color high on his cheeks, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his tshirt.

Luigi turns his attention to Hasan then, and you watch the silent communication pass between them — years of friendship and something-more-but-not-quite spiraling into this moment. "Your turn," Luigi murmurs, and the gentle command in his voice makes something warm pool in your stomach.

Hasan hesitates for just a moment, his eyes darting between you both as if seeking permission one final time, and you answer by sliding your hand up his neck, into his hair, guiding him down until his lips meet yours.

Where Luigi was sure and steady, Hasan kisses like he's drowning, like he's been holding himself back for so long that now he can't help but pour everything into it. His weight shifts fully onto you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel Luigi's hand slip between your bodies, resting over Hasan's thundering heart.

When you break apart, Hasan's eyes are glassy, his lips parted. Luigi makes a soft sound, something between appreciation and want, before he's leaning in to capture Hasan's mouth with his own.

You watch them kiss above you, mesmerized by the way they fit together, by how right it feels to be caught between them like this.

"Mm," you hum, fingers finding the hem of Hasan's shirt. You lift it slowly, deliberately, giving him time to object if he wants to. "I get to prove my bi-ness to the king himself." The words come out soft, teasing but tender.

Your hands smooth up his sides as the fabric rises, and you feel the shiver that runs through him, see the vulnerable look in his eyes that says he can't quite believe this is real as his expression shifts from dazed to stunned, the full meaning hitting him, his eyes darting between you and Luigi as the pieces click into place. "But you haven't-"

"I know," you murmur, nuzzling against his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against your skin. “No need to remind me again.”

Your right hand finds Luigi's shirt, drawing him in for another kiss — brief but full of promise, and when you pull back, you meet Hasan's wide-eyed gaze with a soft smile. "Who better, though?"

Who better than these two men who've become so integral to your life, who make you feel safe and wanted and understood?

Hasan makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "No pressure or anything," he manages, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays how affected he is by the idea.

Luigi's hand slides up Hasan's back, steadying in its nature. "We'll take care of you.” he says, and though his words are directed at you, you feel Hasan relax under his touch.

"Please," you whisper, and you're not sure what exactly you're asking for — their hands, their mouths, their patience as you learn their bodies. Maybe all of it. Your fingers return to the hem of Hasan's shirt, this time with more purpose. "Off. Both of you.”

Luigi's smile turns knowing, and he sits back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head in one smooth motion and Hasan follows suit, though with less grace.

The contrast between them; Luigi's lean elegance and Hasan's broad strength, it makes your core rattle and your teeth chatter.

They're different from what you're used to — where women were soft floral notes and gentle exploration, Hasan and Luigi are warm spice and intent. Their hands are familiar, but transformed now by purpose and care.

You find yourself cataloging the contrasts.

The slight roughness of palms, the broader spans of fingers, the way they move with a reverence that's both tender and hungry. It's new territory, but you're finding that different doesn't mean daunting.

Luigi notices your contemplation. "Still with us?" he murmurs against your shoulder, and you nod, tilting your head to catch his eye.

It truly feels like time slows and speeds all at the same time and eventually, there’s nothing left between the three of you besides skin and eager breaths — there’s a mouth pressing kisses to your side, right across your ribs, and another pair of lips trailing down past your hip bones, right between your thighs that are nudged apart with an eager chin.

When you open your eyes to look down, you're met with a sight that would make renaissance masters weep — Luigi's elegant hands mapping the curves of your body, his green eyes dark with desire as they hold your gaze.

Hasan worships your inner thighs with desperate, reverent kisses, his usual boundless energy transformed into something achingly tender, and they work in perfect harmony — Luigi steadying one trembling thigh while Hasan lavishes attention on the other, both of them treating you with a gentleness that they always have, but different now.

"You ok?" The question drifts up through the fog of anticipation, and though their voices are usually so distinct, right now you couldn't say which of them asked. You manage a nod, fingers finding Hasan's wrists and holding on like a lifeline as your brows draw together with barely contained want; you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the desire making your blood sing.

"Mhmm," you whimper, the sound more desperate than you intended. "I - fuck. I'm ok." The words come out breathless, broken.

They interpret your response as permission, their worship transforming instantly into raw hunger.

Luigi's mouth traces a passionate path across your body — lavishing attention on your nipples before trailing heated kisses from chest to neck and back again. Meanwhile, Hasan's strong hands encircle your thighs, spreading them wider as he tastes you. His tongue works in deliberate patterns, the wet heat traveling slow from your entrance to your clit.

Each touch is a careful study of your reactions — the way you arch when teeth graze skin, how your breath catches at the perfect pressure. They decode you like a language, discovering which caresses make you shiver and which make you melt. Every mark they leave feels intentional, every kiss calculated, as if they're composing and using your body's responses as their score.

And you love all of it.

Luigi's fingers trail through Hasan's hair as he works between your thighs, the tender gesture drawing a deep hum against your sensitive flesh. "You sound so pretty like this," Luigi murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-warm and intimate. “Still ok?” Your only response is yet another desperate and trembling nod as Hasan slowly presses a single finger inside you, his touch careful but insistent.

His lips worship the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and when he looks up to meet Luigi's gaze, there's something primal in their shared glance that makes your pulse quicken. "Fuck, Lu," Hasan breathes, his voice rough with desire.

Your body betrays your limited experience — every flutter and tension around his finger confirms what you'd thought was just a myth about first times. The way you instinctively clench around him has Hasan moving with exquisite care, his concern for your comfort evident as he presses sweet kisses to the rest of you, as if to apologize.

He lavishes gentle attention on your most sensitive spot, his tongue eventually moving in careful circles while he watches his finger ease in and out of you; the sight of your body gripping him so tightly, combined with the velvet heat of you, draws a low sound from his throat, “Tell me if it’s too much, baby.”

The stretch when he adds a second finger makes your breath catch — his thick digits creating a fullness that your own explorations never prepared you for. Instead of voicing the keen building in your throat, you anchor yourself by gripping Luigi's arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath your trembling fingers.

Luigi presses close, his temple hot against yours, each ragged exhale searing itself into your memory. "That's it, sweet girl," he breathes, his voice dark velvet against your ear. "Tell me how good it feels." The raw need in his tone makes your entire body flush with heat, caught between his whispered encouragement and Hasan's relentless attention below.

Your breath comes in sharp gasps as Hasan's rhythm intensifies. His gaze remains transfixed, drinking in every reaction while Luigi cradles you, murmuring devotions as if you're something precious and divine. "I- fuck — so fucking-“ The words fracture as pleasure builds, your thighs trembling wider as your fingers reach to tangle desperately in Hasan's dark curls. "Please, I'm about to-"

He withdraws his touch with careful reluctance, making a show of bringing his glistening fingers first to his own mouth, then to Luigi's waiting lips.

The sight of them sharing the taste of you sends electricity down your spine, almost enough to tick you right over the edge.

“Not yet.”

Clearly, this is merely the prelude.

"Please," tumbles from your lips once more, the uncertainty crystallizing into clarity. "Fuck me."

They move in perfect synchronization, a wordless understanding passing between them.

Luigi takes position while Hasan settles beside you, his hands mapping gentle paths across your skin, lips trailing warm kisses from your cheek to the hollow of your throat.

The stark difference in their sizes suddenly illuminates their choice — Luigi's perfect proportions versus Hasan's overwhelming abundance.

Luigi teases you with exquisite patience, drawing his length along the slick of your entrance to your clit until you're trembling, your fingers instinctively seeking out Hasan's curls, pulling him closer as your breath catches with each careful stroke.

Hasan's hand slides between your thighs with purposeful tenderness, guiding you to open wider, his touch is steady and sure as he helps position you for Luigi, who's transformed into a vision of desire — cheeks flushed pink, breath coming in soft pants as he aligns himself, and when he finally presses forward, it's with such care that your heart nearly rips in two.

He treats you like something precious, something that could shatter with too much force; in this moment, their strategic decision becomes even clearer — they've chosen the gentlest possible introduction to this new pleasure.

Despite Hasan's innate gentleness, he knows his limits — the decision to let Luigi guide you through this first experience speaks volumes of his devotion to you, and in turn, his devotion to Luigi.

The recognition of his own intensity, and his choice to put your comfort first.

Both boys release deep, resonant sounds of approval as Luigi settles fully inside you, his eyes searching your features intently, reading every micro-expression as pleasure begins to eclipse the initial discomfort. "You doing alright, askim?" Hasan's whisper is tender against your ear, and your eager nod is accompanied by your hand finding his cock, hard and desperate beside you.

The evidence of his arousal coating your fingers only emphasizes how much restraint he's showing for your sake, but Luigi’s response to you is electric — both from being buried inside you and watching you come undone.

His grip on your hips tightens as his thrusts grow more confident, more purposeful, and your plea for more sends a visible shiver through him, though your strokes along Hasan's length are uneven, the combination of your touch and the scene unfolding before him draws deep, guttural sounds from his throat.

The initial discomfort melts away entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that have you making sounds you've never heard from yourself before — soft whimpers evolving into breathless gasps and high, needy cries as Luigi finds his rhythm.

"We should have had you like this ages ago," Luigi breathes, dipping down to capture your lips before turning to kiss Hasan, who's come completely undone beside you, his usual composure dissolving into heavy breaths and desperate sounds. "Taking it so good.” Luigi praises, his voice thick with adoration.

A sharp breath hisses between your teeth as an absurd thought flickers through your mind — what those dedicated internet sleuths would make of this scene, those who parse every glance and gesture between you three.

How different from their careful analyses is this reality.

Then again, you know there’s plenty who have imagined this exact scenario.

Luigi's breathing grows increasingly erratic, and you instinctively pull him deeper, wanting to feel every tremor, every twitch of muscle; Hasan reads the signs as clearly as you do, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as he whispers, "Gonna make Lu come, hm?."

Your brows knit together as you watch where your bodies join, mesmerized by the sight of yourself taking his cock like your body was built for it.

Hasan's voice is rough with need when he asks, "Where do you want him?”

Your wordless answer comes in the form of clinging arms and a pleading look at Hasan, who considers only briefly before giving a subtle nod. "Oh," Luigi breathes, understanding washing over his features. "That’s my baby."

The sensation is foreign but instantly addictive — the flood of warmth deep inside your body, Luigi's movements becoming languid and tender as he works through his release. His kisses turn messy and desperate against your lips, punctuated by breathless praise. "Y’did so good," he pants between kisses, "so perfect.”

Their transition is seamless again — Luigi settling beside you while Hasan returns to taste the evidence of what came before, his tongue moving with dedicated purpose, savoring the mingled essence of you both. "Ready to go again?" Luigi murmurs against your skin, teeth grazing your chin with playful intent, his satisfied smile suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm,” you find yourself mirroring his expression, every wall you’d ever built long gone now, washed away downstream, never to return.

Hasan feels different from Luigi, the stretch making your thighs tremble as a low whine ripples from your core, your hands grabbing for anyone, anything to hold onto as you curse, “Jesus fucking-“ your lungs filling with ragged breaths, the fullness you feel this time different from his fingers, or even from Luigi. “Goddamn.”

“You’re ok,” Luigi whispers, reaching to smooth your hair out of your face again, his thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness he’d only reserved for the two of you. “Just takes a minute.” He assures, and Hasan barely has a quarter of himself inside you then, only taking it inch by inch every few moments that pass, watching as your expression shifts. “Doing so good, sweet girl.”

Eventually, Hasan begins to move his hips, his rhythm achingly slow but surprisingly controlled, his eyes cast over you like you’ve always meant everything, and finally, he gets his fill — again, the ache that settled and washed away with Luigi does the same after a few minutes getting adjusted to the size of Hasan, your hips in his hands as his pace becomes a bit more substantial, his eyes still scanning over you like you’re sacred.

“So fucking-“ Hasan hisses softly, his jaw slack as he watches his cock disappear inside of you, only to reappear again, the slick heat you’re imparting onto him glistening between you. “Fuck, baby.”

There’s more worship done to your body than you’d ever experienced before, kisses to your chest, your neck, hands holding you tenderly wherever they possibly can and eventually, Hasan holds back nothing, his hips rutting into you with a newfound purpose.

The purpose?

To completely wreck you.

And that’s exactly what he does, your eyes becoming unfocused, your body harnessing a mind of its very own, the same squeals from earlier eventually becoming silent, dying in the back of your throat before they can see daylight.

Everything blurs into soft kisses and sweet murmurs before Hasan's control finally breaks. His hips snap against yours with years of pent-up longing — all that time spent holding back, terrified of losing what matters most.

When the next dose of warmth floods you, it's the final push that sends you tumbling over that precipice you've been hovering near for what feels like forever, shattering into a symphony of sounds you never knew you could make — soft whimpers dissolving into desperate cries, every nerve ending sings an alien song you hardly understand.

Their instant kisses trace delicate paths across your flushed skin while lingering aftershocks ripple through your body like electric currents, each tender touch and whispered affection wrapping you in waves of pure adoration as you bask in feeling more cherished, more completely loved than you've ever known possible.

Luigi nuzzles against your ear with feather-light tenderness, his lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers words that feel like sacred devotion, each syllable a prayer offered at your altar — holy, yet tinged with sweet desperation as he trails kisses along your jaw, "We love you so much, would never let anything hurt you."

And Hasan presses close on your other side, his face nestled against yours as if trying to memorize every detail — your scent, the softness of your skin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing — etching this perfect moment into his soul like capturing light, his whispered words mirroring Luigi's devotion, "Never want to know a life that doesn't have you in it like this."

Your mind drifts hazily through the layers of his meaning — whether he's speaking of his long-standing connection with Luigi, this moment you're sharing, or perhaps your chosen path in an industry that puts you on display for the world to dissect.

Which pieces of your intertwined lives is he holding closest?

Scattered across the internet are countless interpretations of your dynamic — elaborate theories spun from fleeting glances, artwork born from imagined moments, stories woven from fragments of on-stream interactions, and you’d always dismissed it as background noise, just the natural consequence of putting yourself in front of an audience, the predictable result of human nature seeking patterns and meaning.

But there's an unsettling truth that rises to your chest — somehow these strangers on the internet had pieced together what you couldn't see in yourself, had mapped the contours of your heart before you'd even begun to explore them.

And that is more than enough to cause anyone to spiral.

(I’m sorry I’m afraid you crash out after this)

[sombrashe]

your account has been a small obsession of mine the past few days simply bcs i adore your jesse writings, i hope you get more recognition within tlou's fandom soon!!! it's my first time ever requesting so i dunno if that's the right way to do it. i wish you a good day and a really warm and comfy bed! 🖤

so.. do u think u can write smth, just a angst to fluff sweet little piece, about reader feeling insecure over dina and jesse's old relationship? not only feeling like she is not good enough, but also bcs she is experiencing a relationship for the first time and jesse has already done all this with his ex. reader thinking it's just a matter of time bfore he realizes that she's too inexperienced and leaves so she chooses to leave first and spare the heartbreak but jesse doesn't even let her go? she rants to him abt her insecurities and yeah they live happily ever after lol (maybe a little kiss here and there too hehe)

do you see me? tlou tv show jesse

content ִ ࣪𖤐⋆ angst, feelings of unworthiness, attempt at a breakup, comfort, reader is a step-parent, 1 use of y/n because i didn't know what else to have jj call you lol

note ִ ࣪𖤐⋆ ahhh thank you for such kind words 🥹 i always adore it when people compliment my writing. as much as i love attention i love the little collection of fellow jesse lovers that have been following me recently!! thank you, i hope both sides of your pillow are cool and your blanket is cozy :3

god you feel pathetic. there he is smiling and laughing alongside dina. yet instead of feeling involved you feel like a third wheel. it's jesse's night with jj and of course he's going to converse with his babys mom, of course he is. so why do you feel so rotten inside?

"Are you going to teach him anymore tracking? He's getting pretty good at picking up the different animal prints."

dina looks over at you with the same smile she's been giving jesse. you know it is so you shouldn't feel jealous. you know this. smiling back you give a gentle nod. god she looks gorgeous today.

"Of course, I was thinking about getting into animal droppings next. Something a little more challenging."

she grins at that and ruffles her little ones hair. giving him a big peck on the cheeks she hands him off to jesse with a small goodbye. you follow behind, back to your shared home, thoughts plaguing you every step of the way. you haven't felt this way since jj was born and you hate it. the feeling of not being good enough having been missing from your life for several years. when you arrive home you go straight to the kitchen. your attempt to distract yourself only lasts for a little while. just long enough for you to slice a few apples and pour some fresh water out for jj as a snack. setting the plate in front of him you watch as he takes a small bite before absolutely devouring the plate. you do normal parenting things to help jesse. teach jj a little more about tracking while it's still daylight, give jj a little bath filled with wet clothes and lots of giggles, tuck jj into bed with two kisses to the forehead from daddy and y/n. slinking out of his room you sigh and beeline straight to your room downstairs. you're just about to start changing when strong arms wrap around your middle. without a second thought you shake them off and go back to your routine. at this point hoping anything will take your mind off the terrible feelings swirling in your brain.

"Are you feeling okay? You've been quiet all day."

"Just tired."

he knows you better than that. knows all your telltale signs. so it's mo surprise when he gently turns you around to look up at him. keeping your eyes low you attempt to keep a straight face. you give a nonchalant shrug despite the quivering in your lip.

"What's wrong? Talk to me."

"It's nothing, really."

the damn breaks and you're left sniffling. tears follow the curve of your cheek as they drip onto calloused fingers. you don't wanna do this, not with jj sleeping in the room above yours. pushing your way out of jesse's grip you start changing. soft plaid pants and an even softer plain shirt replaces your casual wear. rubbing harshly at your cheeks you turn to face jesse. seeing his face breaks you completely. he has this look in his eyes, pity and pain. a mixture that seemingly cements your thoughts.

"You don't deserve this, I'm too much for you. I'm sorry, I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

"What are you talking about? Is this a breakup? Are you trying to leave me right now?"

"If you think that's best. We can wait until JJ goes back to Dina's tomorrow night. That's probably best."

he looks gobsmacked, just utterly clueless. he's seen you like this before and just like last time he keeps his distance until given the okay.

"I don't think that's best at all, it's a terrible idea really."

he takes a step forward with full intent to comfort you after the waterworks start back up. pausing he wants to give you the opportunity to dent or embrace him. a back and forth you have with yourself as you attempt to make sense of the feelings surging through you. you want to hug him, feel his arms embrace you and remind you how safe you are with him. you also want to leave and never return to jackson, make it easier on the both of you. hiccuping you shake your head at him.

"Why are you with me? Is it because I was easy?"

"You're the opposite of easy."

"Exactly see. I'm a disappointment."

"That is not what I said, at all. I thought today was a good day."

"It was, I'm sorry. I'm being stupid. I'll go."

"No, you're not. Talk to me."

"As if you don't know. I'm just a charity case aren't I? I mean look at me. Over three decades into the end of the world and I'm nothing. You deserve someone as beautiful as Dina, not some frumpy thing like me."

"Where is this coming from?"

you shrug at that. you have no clue where this is coming from. nothing of note has happened to make you feel this lousy yet here you are spilling all your cards. jesse closes the space between you now. taking your hands in his he looks down at you with a serious expression. something he would use with a rowdy patrol partner.

"I wouldn't choose anyone else. Ever. You're the best thing to happen to me. You make everyday worth living. I love you more than you can even know."

your tears only worsen at his confession. every bad thought confirmed with the opposite superstition. he leans down to gently kiss your wet lips. resting his forehead against yours he speaks again.

"If you want some time alone I'll sleep on the couch, but I want you to know that I care deeply for you. More than anyone else."

you give him a slow kiss, something comforting. he leans back to look at you. he's looking at you like you've singlehandedly hung the stars in the night sky. a few broken sobs escape from behind your lips as you start to calm down. your frantic self hatred melting away as jesse holds you.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you're just being you. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be."

"Just like you shouldn't have to comfort me after my nightmares."

"I do that because I love you, obviously I'm going to comfort you."

"Exactly."

exactly. snuggling into his chest he simply holds you until you feel comfortable enough to pull away.

"I'm tired."

"Crying will do that, let's get you to bed. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Okay."

you follow him to bed. slipping under the covers you let him gather you into his arms. resting you cheek on his chest you listen to his heartbeat. so long as you continue hearing that sound you know you'll always be his.

[yourloveaton]

Hi! I saw all your AU art just recently and noticed you were saying we can ask you about it! (ITS SUCH AWESOME ART BTW I ADORE IT THE WAY YOU DRAW THEM IS AKAKAKKDMSMAMD!!!!)

I don’t have a specific question, but I do want to know more about it.

So can you just tell me anything about it?

Ahhh THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! I’m so happy that you liked my au art and wanna know more about it !! You have no idea how much joy that makes me feel 🥹💖

Well I can tell you some info and facts about the au, how I’m planning to develop it and all that !! It’s still fairly new and I did it out of nowhere at 3 am in the morning because I thought of my old ideas that I had years ago when undertale was on it’s prime but I was too young to bring ideas to life properly HAHAHA I hope my writing doesn’t bore you!

The au is pretty much founded on the idea of what if Sans also used to be a royal guard when he was younger? Boom. That’s where it spiralled and now I don’t know how revert back to who I was before because I ended up doodling a lot of undertale stuff along with the au, it didn’t help with the fact that my very good beloved friend kept encouraging me and feeding my inner demons of my undertale brainrot HAHAHA

I’m planning to develop the au into 2 parts: Before Undertale and after Undertale.

Before undertale is basically the events that happened before the plot of Undertale took place while after undertale is when they’re finally on the surface and the events that will happen on there! Sounds very generic and common I know, that’s why I’m going to try and develop it to be a bit different and hope that the au is not boring or developed horribly :’D It will take some time though since I know developing an au with a unique plot is gonna be very challenging, there are so many ways to mess it up and aghhh I really don’t wanna mess it up TT

Here are the main cast of the before undertale, this is a very OLD sketch that I made to figure out who’s there and how old they would be before I proceed to develop on the characters. So their heights might not be as accurate as it is in the sketch.

Also DISCLAIMER, Alphys and Undyne never met in before Undertale, so just know there’s no weird agenda going on here! They first met during Undertale plot when they’re both adults (Alphys 29, Undyne 23) so it’s all good!! I thought I needed to point that out because the age gap might seem alarming at first glance knowing they’re officially a couple 🙏 The before undertale plot begins at the age displayed on the sketch, and it ends after uhh.. 10 years? Yeah it’s ten years of events before the main undertale story starts!

I do want to portray the skele family with wholesome moments and you know, how great they are! Well that is before the downfall but we ain’t talking about that for now !! They’re just so beloved to me and I know they were such a sweet family AND WOULD HAVE VERY FUNNY MOMENTS IN WHICH I WANNA DRAW IT OUT!! So yeah, stay tuned for silly mini comics of them eheh

At first, I wanted Trickster (yes I’m calling his royal guard nickname, it’s like a whole different persona of his (alter ego???) where he’s energetic and acts very silly, whimsical, presenting puzzles and quizzes to his opponents sometimes but also can be very intimidating and prove that yeah, there’s a reason why he can be like that cuz it’s HIM) to be nothing more than a mischievous silly royal guard that wanted to keep causing trouble for Gaster but then it grew to be a bigger thing where he unintentionally became the symbol of hope and an entertainer for the whole underground before Trickster disappeared without a trace(?)

I’m still working on this whole concept so not everything is settled yet!! Well what I can also say about Trickster is that Alphys might be involved with the whole Trickster business too eheh

I’ve been practicing on drawing the characters so that I can draw better for this little au project of mine, I hope I can share my progress with you guys as things go on !!!

That’s the general stuff I’ve thought of so far, I hope you enjoy reading ! Thank you for reading and do feel free to ask whenever you have questions about the au or anything else :D✨✨✨✨

[whitecompri]

Kissing Your Green Hedgie

Check Out: With Triple S

Pairing: Scourge x Human!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Light Humor

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Kissing situations, suggestive themes

A/N: I couldn't do this scenario with the others and leave Scourge aside, so, as I didn't want to put him together in the request I received, I made his separately.

--*--

Scourge

Scourge had never planned to kiss you—not even once. But the urge came in the middle of an argument, from one intense look you gave him. He locked his blue eyes on you, then gave a little smirk. He thought you looked so pretty angry that he thought: "Ahhh, screw it—I'm kissin' that mouth 'fore she cusses me out again."

Yes, he has experience. But none of it ever mattered. Kissing to him had always been a power play, a way to assert dominance, or just another cheap, easy tool of manipulation. But with you, it was different—it was intense—it shook all his carefully built foundations. "I'm scared I’ll like this too much… damn it."

He doesn’t have time to practice, and doesn’t want to. The hedgehog analyzes your lips. Catches himself staring without meaning to, constantly drawn to every movement you make when you speak—especially when it’s something offensive toward him. "What the hell’s with that mouth that I keep starin’ at it?"

He gets extremely excited about the idea, yes. But also, he’s pissed at his own heart for racing so fast, and annoyed at his body for getting chills. "It’s just a kiss, dude. Relax. Ain’t like she’s special or nothin’… tsk. Damn it."

He had kissed other Mobians before, but a human—that was another story. When he felt it, he froze immediately. Your lips were warm, soft, delicate. And that messed with him in a dangerous way, making him let out a low groan of satisfaction. He’d never want to kiss another Mobian again in his life. "Ohhh… that’s illegal. That mouth’s a freakin’ weapon."

He pulled away from the kiss, pretending it didn’t affect him at all, giving a crooked little smirk, even though inside, a massive fire was raging—he was practically falling apart, needing strength just to keep his composure. He closed his eyes, trying to think clearly: "Yeah, it was okay. For someone who looks like they’d suck at kissin’, she was actually kinda… surprisin’." But when he opened his eyes again, it was hard to hide the flames in his gaze—or how his legs were shaking and weak.

He won’t be able to wait even two minutes for another kiss—maybe not even one. But he’ll only kiss again if it’s part of a little challenge or with some provocative line: "You gonna deny me a kiss? What—‘fraid you’ll fall for me, huh?"

The change is instant. He becomes a menace—in a good way. He'll tease you with more intensity, steal heated kisses out of nowhere, hold your chin firmly while murmuring, "I’m gonna kiss you so hard it’ll knock the air outta you… I wanna hear those cute lil' sounds you make when I kiss you…" But he'll also become more present, almost to the point of being unbearable. He'll watch you more, pay attention to every little detail about you. He'll protect you from anything, no matter how silly, and maybe, just maybe, he'll start to fall head over heels in love with you.

--*--

Scourge’s blue eyes scanned your face, focusing on every detail while you continued to bombard him with your words. But for a few minutes now, he hadn't been listening. All his attention was on your lips, above everything else, barely able to hold back from doing something reckless.

And then he finally broke, unable to take it anymore. He moved in swiftly, grabbing your arm and pulling you up to his level, finally capturing your lips. He melted into the sensation—he had never felt anything like it—and he knew it was dangerous to continue, but Scourge didn’t care. That was exactly where he wanted to be.

After a long few seconds of kissing, of tasting you, feeling the softness of your lips, he broke the spell and slowly pulled away.

A sly smile formed on his muzzle as he looked at you with intensity.

"Hm~ You kiss funny. I like that." He let out a raspy chuckle. "Bet I could make you moan usin’ just that weird lil’ human mouth o’ yours."

"Don’t go ‘round kissin’ anyone else like that, y’hear?" He stared at you with his signature smirk. "I ain’t trained, so if someone tries kissin’ you… might just bite ‘em." And just like that, he placed a hand on your waist, pulling you closer, unwilling to waste any time before the next kiss.